


Holiday Post

by rabidchild67



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Christmas, Easter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fourth of July, Friends to Lovers, Halloween, Holidays, Implied/Referenced Incest, Labor Day, M/M, Mardi Gras, Memorial Day, New Years, Post-Break Up, Slow Build, St. Patrick's Day, Thanksgiving, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 11:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2690993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year in holidays, Pinto-style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. November 28, 2014

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be updated the day after each holiday in the coming year: Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s Day – you get the idea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Friday. Zach drops by Chris’s for some post-Thanksgiving day leftovers

_BING-BONG_

“There goes the doorbell, Mom.”

“I’ll let you go then, Chrissy. Sure you don’t want to come down here to Palm Springs? Your father says the greens are fast, whatever that means.”

“Nah, it’s OK – I’ve got to fly back to Boston Sunday morning anyway, and I’ve got all this leftover turkey to get through.”

“All right, darling – have a good weekend. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

_BING-BONG_

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” Chris said good-naturedly as he slipped his cell into his pocket and headed for his front door. The tiles in the front hall were too cold on his bare feet and he briefly wondered if he ought to go grab a pair of socks as he reached for the doorknob.

“Happy belated Thanksgiviiiing!”

“Zach?” Chris blinked at the man, who stood on his doorstep waggling the bottle of wine he held in one hand. Chris didn’t miss the duffel bag slung over one shoulder or the cab that drove away as soon as the door opened.

“Hey – so great to see you!” Zach said, dropping an arm around Chris’s shoulders and a peck on his ear. He hadn’t shaved in several days, and the beanie he was wearing was scratchy. “So sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday,” he said lazily as he pushed past Chris into the foyer. “Was it fun?”

“It was all right,” Chris said. “Tons of food – Troian made, like, a 22-pound turkey.”

“Ooo, mmm, is there any left over? Sick of sandwiches yet?”

“It’s 11:30 Black Friday morning – I haven’t had the chance. Did you? Want a sandwich?”

Zach’s smile was tentative. “Been on a plane for the last six hours, man.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Chris led the way to the kitchen, where he stopped by the fridge and began pulling things out and piling them on the kitchen island. He grabbed a couple of plates and a loaf of marble rye, and when he turned around, there was Zach, standing in the doorway.

“Have a seat,” he said, turning around to snag a dinner knife from the drawer. 

Zach shrugged out of the coat he still wore – too heavy for LA this time of year, so he was a little flushed – and draped it on the back of the bar stool. He set the wine down gingerly on the corner of the island before he took a seat; Chris surmised he’d left the duffel by the door. 

“You want something to drink?” Chris asked, going to the fridge and rooting around before he got an answer. “Got some of that berry-flavored fizzy crap Patrick likes, and some beers. A lot of beers. Like, a gross of beers.”

“Water’s fine.”

Chris went to the cupboard and grabbed a glass, belatedly recalling it was one of the hand-blown ones Zach had given him as a housewarming gift, and filled it from the Brita pitcher on the counter. “Ice?”

“No, thanks.”

Chris slid the glass over to him and went back to constructing the sandwiches. He wasn’t much of a cook, but he could make a mean sandwich. He spread Russian dressing over the bread and then laid on Swiss cheese and some of the leftover turkey. He topped it all with some coleslaw and potato chips, and mashed it all together. “Pickle?” 

“No, but I’ll take a defibrillator if you’ve got one,” Zach replied with a lopsided grin as Chris cut his sandwich in half and placed the plate in front of him.

“What, there’s veggies in there.” He lifted half of his and took a bite. It was pretty awesome, if he did say so himself. “So what are you doing out here?” he asked before grabbing a pair of napkins and handing one to Zach.

“I’ve got a meeting on Monday, so I flew out this morning.”

“Cool.” Chris took another bite and studied the veins of iron oxide in the marble of his counter top. “So there’s a _Godfather_ marathon on I was meaning to catch,” he said, gazing off toward the TV room. “Feel like vegging out in front of the TV with me?”

“Sure.” Zach followed Chris through and sat on the couch beside him as Chris tuned into the film. On screen, Clemenza was teaching Michael how to make sauce. “Now I want meatballs,” Zach said.

“You’re already eating,” Chris pointed out.

“I didn’t say it made sense. This sandwich is really good, by the way – thank you. I didn’t really have much of a Thanksgiving, so it’s nice.”

“No? Why not?” 

Zach shrugged.

“I mean, you could’ve come here, it wasn’t a big thing or anything.”

“I know.”

“You guys were invited – you’re always invited.” 

“I know, I know.”

“But?”

“But I was feeling morose.” 

He looked up at Chris then, and Chris looked at him – really looked at him, for the first time in months, he realized. He was pale, and he looked thinner, and just a little diminished. “What happened?”

“Miles dumped me.”

Chris nodded, once. 

“Try not to look so surprised.”

“What did you expect me to say?”

“I dunno, ‘I told you so’?”

“But I didn’t. I didn’t tell you so.” He never said anything to anyone about ongoing relationships – he knew better than that.

“Well, why not?”

“Because it’s not my business what zygote you’re dating, Zach.” Well, that came out a lot bitchier than he intended. “I’m sorry, I’m tired. I’m doing press for two movies at once while I’m filming a third. I’m – yeah, I’m tired.” He sank back into the couch, sinking the thumb and forefinger of his right hand into his eye sockets and rubbing; when he pulled them away, he had to blink to get his contacts back into place. “But you’re morose. Morose trumps tired – what happened?”

“He dumped me. He said he couldn’t handle me being away all the time.”

“You’re an actor, it’s in the job description.”

“That’s what I said. And I tried to take him everywhere, Chris – I really did. It was like we were joined at the hip sometimes.”

“I noticed,” Chris said, but luckily Zach kept talking.

“We were just too different. In the end, we didn’t really have all that much in common.” He leaned back into the couch as well, mirroring Chris’s posture. “What happened to the old adage that opposites attract?”

“It’s mostly bullshit.”

“Good sex covers up a lot. I miss him.”

“Well, you know, the first break-up rarely takes. Maybe you’ve got another shot.” Chris was really going to have to tone down the sarcasm.

“Nah, he dumped me after Halloween – we already had quasi-make-up sex. Followed by messy revenge sex, and then sad goodbye sex. It’s over.”

“You should be more broken up over this, Zachary. You were together more than a year.”

“That’s why I was morose.”

Chris turned his head away to stare up at the ceiling. “So you thought you’d bring your morose ass all the way out here? Why?”

“You’re my feel better person.”

“Your what?”

“My feel better person – the person who makes me feel better.”

Chris stared at him, searching his face for any trace of bullshit. 

“Is that OK?” Zach asked when Chris had not spoken.

“Why wouldn’t it be? I’m your friend, right? Friends help friends when they’re having a hard time.”

Zach’s brows furrowed at Chris’s reaction.

“You want some pie? I think I want some pie.”

Chris got up to take his plate and glass back to the kitchen, and left them in the sink, then grabbed one of the bakery boxes that were still piled on his counter and opened it up. Score – it was the cherry pie. He hacked himself a slice and plopped it onto another plate, wondering how long it would take in the microwave to warm it without making the crust all soggy. He turned his head as Zach walked into the room, depositing his own dishes into the sink. 

“I’ve got cherry, pumpkin, some sort of ricotta and pineapple thing –“

“You mad at me?” Zach asked, leaning against the same counter where Chris stood.

Chris sighed. “Why would I be mad?”

“That’s why I asked, man. You just seem kind of pissed off.”

“I told you, I’m tired,” Chris said, knowing that wouldn’t hack it as an excuse again. “Besides, you just broke up with your boyfriend, it would be pretty shitty of me to be pissed off at you.”

“Feeling like being shitty?” Zach offered.

“Yes!” Chris said, pouncing. “I haven’t heard from you in _months_ , Zach.”

“I know.”

“And you show up here without notice, tell me you broke up with Miles, like, a month ago, and you need me to help you feel better?”

“Please?”

Chris looked at him, standing there with his beard half grown in, his ungroomed brows nearly merged, and his ridiculous black beanie, looking like some sort of photo negative of the world’s most tragic hipster raccoon, and caved. 

“Come here,” he said, holding his arms open. Zach practically fell into them, his hands sliding around Chris’s waist as he rested his chin on Chris’s shoulder. No matter what happened, no matter how long they were apart, Chris could never stay mad at Zach for long, and if he needed a friend to help him through his break-up, then that’s what Chris would be.

“Thank you,” Zach murmured, turning his head to the side, the scratchy wool of his hat making Chris flinch again. What the hell was it made of – burlap? He reached up and tugged the thing off Zach’ head, tossing it onto the counter. After a minute, Zach pulled away, and rested a hand on Chris’s shoulder, squeezing. “You’re a good friend, Chris.”

“Hey, no problem. And feel free to stay here the rest of the weekend – I’ve got no plans.” Zach smiled his thanks. “Just tell me one thing”

“Anything – shoot.”

“What the hell did you do to your hair?”


	2. December 26, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Zach in a ski chalet in Stowe.

Chris stomped down the stairs of the cabin (or maybe it was technically a chalet), his feet feeling too large and clunky in his ski boots. He dumped his gloves, hat, and goggles on the couch and walked through to the kitchen. He stopped short when he found Zach seated at the table, reading a copy of _The Hollywood Reporter_. “Morning,” he greeted.

“Only just,” Zach pointed out.

Chris glanced at the clock on the wall – it was 11:35 am. He shrugged. “You don’t understand how behind on sleep I am, man. Not having to be on set before the sun comes up is like an unbelievable luxury.” 

Shooting on _The Finest Hours_ was on a break until the Monday after New Year’s and Chris was looking at nine more days of blissful non-responsibility stretched out ahead of him. He had opted out of the family cruise thing his parents and Katie and her family were on, and he found himself surprisingly happy to be unengaged for the holidays. Zach’s invitation to join him in Stowe over Christmas weekend had caught him at just the right moment, and he had jumped at the chance for a change in scenery. 

He crossed over to the coffee maker and pulled out the pot, frowning – there was barely enough for half a cup left. “I’m just happy you invited me to tag along – I don’t know what else I’d be doing this weekend.” He took the pot to the sink and rinsed it, then filled it halfway with water.

“And I’m grateful for the company. The Ex was the one who wanted this trip.” 

Chris looked around the place – the cavernous great room and cathedral ceilings, the gourmet kitchen; upstairs were four bedrooms and out on the deck was a hot tub and firepit. Now that it was daytime, he could really appreciate it, and it was really a stunning place – it must’ve set Zach back a few bucks. 

“A couple o’ merry bachelors we,” Chris replied and busied himself making a pot of coffee. When it began to brew, he went to the fridge in search of something to eat. There was nothing in there but leftover Hickory Farms cheese ball (where the hell had that come from?) and some oranges. “We should probably go shopping for supplies, I’m starving.”

Zach shrugged. “We can always go up to the main lodge,” he suggested. “I think I saw something about brunch hours for today.”

As if on cue, Chris’s stomach took that moment to growl. “I suppose skiing can wait,” he said, laying a hand on his belly.

“The Hunger of the Pine waits for no man,” Zach smirked. “I’ll get my coat.”

\----

Brunch was one of the most ridiculously over-the-top buffets Chris had yet to experience. They had a crepe station. If his only decision for the next three days was whether to get his crepe filled with something savory (ooo – spinach!) or sweet (almond cream and warm pear compote), then he’d count this entire trip a win. The omelet Zach brought back to the table was a thing of beauty as well, oozing with cheese, and with a side of house-made breakfast sausage. They traded plates half way through.

Chris was contemplating heading back for the raw bar when a sigh from Zach caught his attention. “You OK, buddy?”

Zach’s eyes were on a rather ostentatious chandelier suspended above the cavernous room; it had been constructed of what appeared to be deer antlers. Their bare, white branches arcing upward reminded Chris of dead things. 

“I still miss him. Everything I see reminds me of him.”

Chris’s eyes followed Zach’s to the chandelier and back to Zach’s face. “Dude, if you’re seeing Miles in that monstrosity, I don’t know what it says about your relationship.” Zach laughed. “Seriously, that thing will feature very prominently in my nightmares.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean. I shouldn’t have come here – we were supposed to be here together. It was supposed to be all romantic and shit.”

Chris slurped at his empty Bloody Mary loudly enough to get their waitress’s attention; she scurried off to get them refills. He set the glass down and dropped his hand on Zach’s wrist. “Well, now you’ve got me!” he said cheerfully, shaking Zach’s arm back and forth lightly.

Zach smiled sadly. “No offense, but you rank a distant second to having someone to warm my bed, Pine. Someone to whisper to, someone to listen?” He shook his head and looked away. “God, I wish I still smoked.”

Chris withdrew his hand and looked at Zach closely. “Why is this one hitting you so hard, though? Last night you said you thought you and Miles were ultimately incompatible, that you were convinced you would have been heading for a break-up anyway. Or was that the nog talking?”

“That was partially nog-fueled, yes. Maybe 37%.”

“37 whole percent, huh? OK, but have you stopped to consider that maybe you’re more into the relationship than the person? Maybe that’s why these things never work out. You’re no sooner out of a relationship than you jump right into the next one. What do they call it? You’re a serial monogamist.” 

Zach stole the celery stalk from Chris’s empty glass and bit into it. “I’m in love with being in love, is that what you’re saying? That makes good movie dialogue, Chris, but it’s not the way people work.” 

“You just hate being alone. It’s not as scary as you think, you know.”

“What, you mean like you?” Zach scoffed.

Chris flinched; true, it had been nearly two years since he and Iris split. Their waitress took that moment to deliver their new drinks to them. 

“I’m sorry, that was mean,” Zach apologized as soon as the waitress had gone.

“But you’re right. I haven’t been with someone in a really long time.” Chris uncapped the small bottle of Tabasco on the table and shook a few extra drops into his Bloody Mary. “Would you say I’m unhappy, though?”

“No. No, I wouldn’t. But then, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“We were just together over Thanksgiving.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but you also know me as well as or better than anyone outside my immediate family. Do I appear unhappy or unfulfilled?” He stared into Zach’s eyes as he spoke, hoping to communicate to him the importance he attached to this. 

Zach met his gaze a few moments before replying, “I guess that’s between you and your blue balls, man.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Come on!” he laughed. So much for the emotionally mature portion of the weekend.

“Seriously, when was the last time you got laid? Do you remember how it goes?” Zach looked around the dining room, eyes falling on another table several yards away. “Hey look – twins!” 

Chris turned his head; at the table were seated two very attractive college-aged women who were clearly twins, dressed in coordinating ski bunny outfits in baby blue and pink. When they noticed they’d been noticed, they each smiled encouragingly at Chris and Zach. Chris could feel his ears heating up; not only did he not feel up to going through the motions this type of scenario would entail, he wasn’t even sure he wanted it at the moment. “Naw man, I’m good.”

“I will totally be your wingman!” Zach offered. He sat up in his chair, suddenly avid. Chris knew he’d have to nip this in the bud.

“No.”

“Come on, even I think they’re hot.”

“Please stop talking.”

“Fine, don’t let me live vicariously through you. Some friend you turned out to be,” Zach grumped.

“That’s me, the most selfish guy you know. Now are we going to sit here all day sucking down Bloody Marys or are we going to hit the slopes?”

“I don’t ski. Neither does Miles, actually.”

“What? Then why did you book this vacation?”

“We just wanted to have the whole,” he gestured around the place vaguely, “you know, ski bum experience.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Like in _Better Off Dead_? Two dollars…”

“Oh my God, you’re the worst, Quinto,” Chris said. He stood. “Well then, since this is all we’re going to do this weekend, I am going to need more bacon.”

“That’s the right attitude,” Zach said, raising his glass in a toast to him. “Hey, bring me some crab claws, will ya?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - look for the next chapter on January 1, because let's be real, the fun holiday is New Year's Eve, amiright?


	3. January 1, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NYE in NYC.

Of the many New York City sounds that have rudely awakened Chris in his life (and there have been many, from garbage trucks at 3:00 am to the blare of a car horn to once, memorably, a hooker beating the hell out of a john who tried to stiff her) perhaps the worst might be the runny faucet in the bathtub in Zach’s bathroom.

It wasn’t the loudest sound, and certainly not the most obnoxious, but when he got in at 3:30 after a New Year’s Eve spent partying with friends, it was quite possibly the most irritating. It was a constant trickle that fell directly into the drain’s trap, which amplified the sound and pitched it at exactly the right frequency to drive him insane. Also, now he had to pee.

Rising reluctantly from the depths of Zach’s incongruously comfortable couch, where he’d been crashing for the last few days since they left Vermont, Chris picked his way across the living room and into the bathroom, where he tightened the handle on the taps with a mighty effort and managed, at least, to shut off half its flow. He pissed and washed his hands, drank several handfuls of cold water in a desperate bid to stave off the hangover that was as inevitable as death and taxes, then made his way back to the couch. Picking his watch up from the coffee table, he held it right in front of his face (he was not sure where he left his glasses), and saw that it was 11:25 in the morning. Later than he thought it would be, but earlier than he’d hoped. He settled back into the pillows and pulled the fleecy microfiber throw over his head in what he knew would be a losing bid to get back to sleep.

The sounds of the city were strangely muted, which was not surprising. It was a holiday, one traditionally given over to home-bound pursuits such as nursing hangovers while pretending to be interested in bowl games. Despite the quiet, Chris’s brain steadfastly refused to wind down and give itself over to sleep again. If he were a good house guest, he’d get up and make coffee or something, but he wasn’t feeling that industrious this morning. 

He and Zach had gone out for New Year’s with a mixed group of both their friends, and it had been a good time. Unfortunately, Chris lost track of his host sometime around 11:00 – not that he cared particularly, as he was having a great time with Bo and his girlfriend – and the only clue Chris had that Zach even made it home was the fact his bedroom door was closed when he passed it on the way to the toilet just now. 

A few minutes later, he heard faint stirrings through the wall from Zach’s room; the dogs must have been roused by Chris’s trip to the bathroom and were pacing. He heard a low voice next and then… a different voice, and laughter. He froze a little, because he didn’t know Zach wasn’t alone. It wasn’t as if he disapproved of Zach bringing some guy to his own apartment, he was just not looking forward to the inevitable walk-of-shame awkwardness when the guy left. He lay there anyway, unsure what else to do, because there could be no pretending to sleep when Zach ushered the guy out. If Zach ushered the guy out; God, he hoped there would be no all-day lie-in watching movies and playing board games or whatever with this virtual stranger. Chris passed no judgment, he was just not in the mood to be “public Chris” today.

Predictably, the door opened moments later and the sound of the dogs rushing out preceded two sets of footprints. Even if Chris had meant to feign sleep, Skunk jumping onto the couch to stretch his small body out on top of him effectively quashed it. 

“Hey, little man,” Chris said as the dog planted a series of small licks on Chris’s chin. Noah had to join in too, of course, and both Chris’s hands were instantly engaged with petting them.

“Guys, come on,” Zach chided the dogs without much intent behind it.

“Morning,” Chris said, squinting. He recalled suddenly he left his glasses under the pillow the night before and reached for them.

“Happy New Year,” Miles said as he came into focus.

Chris was unsuccessful in hiding his astonishment. “Hey, man! Happy New Year!” he said, thinking it sounded more like a warm welcome than a surprised, _What the fuck, really?_ He glanced at Zach who raised his brows in the equivalent of a facial shrug only he was capable of. Miles pulled on a scarf, then a coat. “You leaving?” 

“Yeah, I’ve got a brunch to get to, so…” He gestured toward the door.

Zach reached for his own coat. “I’ll walk you out,” he told Miles, pulling it on and grabbing the dogs’ leashes. They jangled, getting the dogs’ immediate attention, and there was nothing like a Pavlovian response to the promise of a walk to get a pair of dogs to leave you alone.

Chris took the opportunity to sit up. He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously, because it didn’t matter if Miles just rolled out of bed and had his hair tied in a sloppy, half-bun ponytail thing, he still looked stunning. Chris rubbed his chin for good measure and noticed a piece of fuzz from the blanket he slept under fall into his lap.

“Think I’ll get us some coffees while I’m out – you want?” Zach offered.

“Sure, man.”

Zach opened the door and let Miles precede him out. He looked at Chris sheepishly, as if to say, _I am a weak, weak man._

Chris pointed at him like a kid playing cowboy, took aim, and fired.

\----

“Sooo?” Chris finally had to say. Zach had returned more than fifteen minutes before, bearing bagels, lox, and coffee, and they’d spent the last few minutes feeding the dogs and getting settled at the tiny kitchen table.

Zach cocked his head to the side, an _I just got some_ smirk flashing momentarily on his face; his cheeks turned a dusky rose color. His expression then morphed into something more modest, but his eyes were shining when he looked at Chris. “Miles and I… last night… made love.” 

Chris personally disliked that phrase, finding its old-fashioned taint to be cringe-worthy. It was nevertheless charming coming out of the mouth of a clearly besotted Zach. “What happened, exactly?”

“Well, you lost me at the bar...”

“No, you lost me at the bar.”

“No, I didn’t. When did you leave?”

“After midnight?”

“Oh. So, OK, I lost you at the bar, and then Maia said she was bored and that her friend’s club was quote-unquote ‘bangin’ so we went.”

“And was it? Bangin’?”

“Naturally. So when we got there, we hit the dancefloor, and –“

“Was it, in addition, slammin’?” Chris interrupted.

“Shut up. And yes, it was. So we hit the dancefloor and we’re having a good time and suddenly I feel a hand on my ass, and it’s Miles. And, well, they started playing our song, so we danced.”

“Your song?”

“’Starships’ by Nicki Minaj.”

“What, was ‘Anaconda’ too sentimental?”

Zach smacked him on the arm. “It’s what we danced to the night we first hooked up.”

“So romantic – do go on.”

“One dance turned into two, and then it was midnight and, well… hard to _not_ kiss someone at midnight on New Year’s, you know?”

Chris could allow that he did.

“Before I knew it we were making out, and then… I think you can guess the rest.”

“Yes, no need to paint a picture.” Chris drained his coffee cup and set it carefully down on the table. “So what’s this mean? Are you guys back together?”

Zach pulled the sleeves of his sweater down over his wrists to cover his hands completely and held them closed with his fists. “I don’t know,” he said at length.

“Do you want to be?”

“I don’t know?” Chris raised an eyebrow and Zach’s voice raised an octave. “Do I have to? I mean, it was just one night?”

Chris held up his hands. “Hey, I’m not your father confessor or anything, I just don’t want you to get hurt. What happened to the fact you said you two were ultimately incompatible?”

“I think we can work on being more compatible,” Zach said very slowly and it sounded as if he was trying to convince himself of it more than Chris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you on February 15, 2015 for the next chapter.


	4. February 15, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zach is miserable, Chris offers to help.

Chris startled awake when the bed dipped beside him from the weight of someone getting into it. He rolled over onto his back at the unmistakable sensation of said person crawling up the length of the bed toward him, and soon a familiar and not wholly unwelcome face was staring down at him with a great degree of gravitas.

“You’re up awfully early,” Chris commented. “Is this a thing I should be concerned about, or…”

Luca cocked his head to the side and regarded Chris with large, blue eyes. “It’th after theven, Uncle Chrith,” he informed him, the gap where his front teeth used to be making him lisp. 

“Well then, thanks for letting me sleep in.” 

Chris reached for his glasses, which sat on the bedside table of the guest room at Katie’s house. He’d agreed to babysit the five-year old while his sister and her husband spent Valentine’s weekend out on Catalina. He sat up and reached for the T-shirt he’d flung across the foot of the bed when he felt overheated in the night. “What should we have for breakfast?”

“Mickey Mouth pancaketh, pleathe.”

“Sounds good – you get on that while I take a shower.”

“That’th thilly, Uncle Chrith!” Luca said with a laugh, and grabbed his hand. “You’re opposed to make ‘em!” He pulled on Chris’s hand with all his weight, which admittedly wasn’t much, and he wound up lying on his back on the bed.

“Oh, all right,” Chris said, feigning reluctance. He pushed the covers aside and followed the boy down the stairs. 

“Want some chocolate milk?” he offered when they reached the kitchen and received an enthusiastic nod in response. He had just set it down and hit the power button to heat up Katie’s Keurig machine (oh, how he loathed the things, but his sister had no proper coffee maker in the entire house) when his cell phone buzzed on the counter. 

He picked it up on his way to the fridge to get eggs and butter and glanced at the screen to see who was calling. “Hey, dude,” he said to Zach, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he grabbed for the ingredients. “You’re up early for a Sunday.” His only answer was a sniffle. “Zach? Buddy?”

Zach sighed heavily. 

Something clenched inside Chris’s gut, painfully. “Is everything OK? Come on, you’re kinda freaking me out here. How’s your family? Your mom?”

“She’s fine,” Zach said in a breathy, nasal voice, “they’re all fine.”

“Well, then what –“

“Miles and I broke up.”

His voice broke on the last syllable, and it was an utterly pitiful sound. Chris shook his head and closed his eyes, raising his hand to scrub at the two-day growth of stubble on his chin. “Man, I’m… I’m truly sorry. What happened?”

“We had a huge fight last night and he left,” Zach said. 

“What did you fight about?” Chris jumped as the refrigerator began beeping alarmingly; he closed the door and it stopped.

“He said I wasn’t present enough, that he felt like he was alone even when we were together.”

“Ouch.”

“Then he said I was selfish and conceited and egotistical and he never knew what he even found remotely likable or attractive about me.”

Chris turned around. “Holy shiii-erbert,” he said, editing his language when he saw Luca sitting at the breakfast bar watching him. He grabbed the blueberries he’d taken from the fridge and put a few into a small dish for the boy. “That’s harsh. What did you say?”

“I told him he was being redundant and then he called me pedantic and insufferable.”

Chris made a sympathetic noise but said nothing; it sounded like Miles may have scored a point there. “Come on, why would he call you those things?”

Zach sniffed noisily before continuing. “Because it’s true?” he sobbed.

“It’s not!” 

“He said I’m judgy and hold everyone up to impossibly high standards.”

“So you’re a stickler,” Chris shrugged.

“And I’m completely self-absorbed. Just the other day, I bought this sweater Miles said he liked because I thought it’d look better on me.” 

Chris winced; that was obnoxious even by Zach’s standards, but he still felt compelled to comfort his friend. “You’ve got a well-developed sense of your own aesthetic.”

“He’s right, he’s so right! I’m a narcissistic, bitter egotist who will never find love! Oh my God, Chris, what if I…” Whatever he said next was lost in the sort of high-pitched screech only a dog would be able to hear. Chris had to remove the phone from his ear.

“What? I didn’t get what you just said?”

“I’m that guy, Chris, that sad, sad 40-something year old guy who could never commit to anyone and winds up alone. I’m going to die alone. Old, and ugly, and alone. And old. And fat and old, oh God.”

“Calm down, you’re only 38.”

“ _I’m 37! That’s not old!_ ” he shrilled.

Chris rolled his eyes. “Fine. What leads you to that conclusion?”

“Miles was right – I am too self-involved to give enough of myself to anyone who’ll want to be with me. He said that’s what made him hate me.” Chris flinched. “And oh my God, do you remember? Jon said the same thing.”

“Jon Groff did not say he hated you.”

“He did, he did – remember that fight we had at Zoë’s Labor Day barbecue?”

Chris recalled Jon saying he hated Zach’s tendency to always have to be right, but clearly Zach had a different memory of the events of that day, so he allowed him the point. 

“And oh my God, I just realize Jon and I broke up on a holiday.”

“What, Labor Day?”

“And yesterday was Valentine’s. Clearly holidays are inflection points for me. With all that emotional significance and tradition attached to them – no wonder they put my relationships under stress!”

“Well, yeah, those back to school sales can be a real trial… should you get a new protractor? Trapper Keeper or just notebooks? And highlighters, man – so many colors.”

Zach went on, ignoring him, “As long as there are holidays, I can never be happy.”

Chris was beginning to get impatient, and Luca was rapidly finishing his blueberries – it wouldn’t be long before the kid justifiably started fussing for his pancakes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You just have to figure out a few things, and maybe being alone for a while will help.”

“Be alone?” Zach scoffed; Chris could practically hear him shudder.

“Yes, alone. Zach, ever since the day we met, practically, you’ve been in the midst of falling into or out of love with someone, sometimes two at a time. You barely give yourself space to breathe, much less get to know the person, or figure out what either of you wants, or even if you’re compatible. Then there’s a big, dramatic break-up, and you come over here with your heart on your sleeve and your shoes on my couch. You give me whiplash sometimes.”

“Well, at least I take chances,” he said sullenly. “You barely fuck a woman before you find some reason not to call her again. You’re like a relationship mayfly.”

If Zach wasn’t feeling backed against a wall, as Chris imagined he was, that remark would have hurt. Besides, it was actually true – or at least, it used to be. “I would say that was a fair assessment,” he admitted, “but not any longer. I’ve changed – I refuse to go out with someone unless I know we have some things in common besides attraction first. I prefer to be more thoughtful about it.”

“Thoughtful, huh? How’s that working out for you?”

“I haven’t been with anyone in two years.” 

Zach crowed with laughter. 

Chris raised his voice over Zach’s so he could be heard. “Do you hear me complaining about it?” 

The laughter stopped immediately. “No.”

“No, because I choose not to make it the focal point of my life. I’ve got other interests, other people who fulfill me, and when an opportunity comes around, I’m confident I’ll recognize it for what it is and not let my dick make the decisions for me.”

There was a pause at the other end of the call. “Jesus, are you really that healthy?”

“That, I could not say, but I’m a lot less worried about the future since I let myself off that hook. I’m in a good place now, Zachary, I mean it.”

“Wow, you really seem like you are. But what about… you know… _you know_.”

“Sex? Lots and lots of hookers.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I just, you know, take care of business. It’s fine.” And it was. Sure, he had to stay stocked up on more lube than he’d ever gone through before in his life, but he really felt like he’d reached a good place. His career kept him constantly busy, and while he sometimes missed the closeness he experienced when in a relationship, it wasn’t as if he felt like he needed one to be a complete person. People weren’t supposed to complete each other, he now realized, and if you needed to be in a relationship to fill some sort of hole, then what happened when the person no longer fit, or the hole changed size?

“You sound fine.”

“I am.”

“Gee, can I be just like you when I grow up, Mr. Pine?” Zach asked with a snarky little whine in his voice. Well, at least he was no longer crying. 

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious. I think I might have to take a page from your book. If it’s working for you, maybe it can work for me.”

Chris smiled, happy to help.

“But you have to help me out,” Zach went on. “Be, like, my singlehood sensei or whatever. Help me stay centered like you.”

“Fine,” Chris said, and went over to Katie’s pantry to try to find some flour and sugar. “But you have to commit to it for a significant period of time or it’ll never work. Give me a year, and I’ll help you turn it around.”

“A year – what?”

“A year, Zachary, that’s my only stipulation.”

“Fine,” Zach grumbled. “Bossy.”

Chris laughed.

“Oh, but hey – _you_ have to promise to help me get through all the holidays. It’s when I’m at my most vulnerable. They screw with my head. Like, it’s all too sexy.”

“Oh yeah, the inherent sexiness of Easter is all I ever think about. All those marshmallow Peeps.”

“Shut up – that’s _my_ only stipulation.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to bargain, but OK,” Chris said, reaching for the baking soda. 

“Great. This will be great – I can’t wait to work on myself.”

Chris laughed again – he didn’t think he’d make it past Easter, but whatever. “Good. Now listen, I’ve gotta go and make breakfast for my nephew.

“Aww! Uncle Chrissy’s makin’ pancakes?” 

“As a matter of fact, I am. I’ll be home by 3:00 if you want to talk some more, OK?”

“Sure thing. Ciao.”

“Ciao.”

Chris finally got all the ingredients and equipment he’d need to make breakfast together and gathered them all on the kitchen island. 

He was just whisking the batter together when Luca piped up, blue eyes wide. “Uncle Chris, what’th a hooker?”

Chris dropped the whisk and it fell out of the bowl, clattering to the counter and spattering batter everywhere. “It’s a… a um… a special person, who you, uh, you pay to be your, uh, your special friend. Temporarily. It’s a grown-ups-only thing – you don’t have to worry about it. Or tell your mom about it. At all. Ever.” He grabbed a dish towel to wipe up the mess.

Luca cocked his head to the side, eyebrows drawn together. “Tho they’re like thtripperth?”

“Strippers? How do you know about strippers?”

Luca shrugged. “Mommy wath having a _converthation_ with Daddy last week because Daddy’th client from out of town needed thpecial friendth and Mommy didn’t like it.”

“Yeah, well, Mommy probably had some valid points. So how many pancakes do you want? Seven? Eight?”

“All of dem, Uncle Chris!”

“That can be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all after Mardi Gras… in three days?


	5. February 18, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris has already let Zach down without knowing it.

_BRRRRRRRRIIIIIINGG!!!!!_

“Gah! What the fuck?!” Chris jumped as his iPhone rang, right beneath his ear, jarring him from a very sound nap. He had been battling a bad cold he caught from Luca over the weekend, and it had kept him up all of the previous night. He’d managed to drift off about half an hour before, Hoda and Kathie Lee lulling him to sleep on the couch.

He sat up, fumbled for the phone, dropped it twice, and finally managed to grasp it with his ham hands. Shoving his glasses on, he peered down at the display.

 _This Asshole_ the label informed him, superimposed over a photo of Zach mugging into the camera with his lip sticking out. “Dude. _What_.”

“Manners, Christopher!”

“You woke me up.”

“It is two o’clock in the afternoon, why are you still sleeping?”

“For you maybe.”

“OK, fine, it is eleven o’clock in the morning, why are you still sleeping?”

Chris would have answered, except he sneezed instead.

“Are you sick?”

“Duh.” He sniffled.

“Oh, my poor baby,” Zach said sarcastically.

“Man, shut the fuck up.” Chris grabbed a tissue from the box on the end table and swiped it across his nose. “To what do I owe the dubious honor of this phone call?”

Zach paused, though for what effect, Chris could not guess. “You have already let me down.” Ah, so it was to be drama.

Chris’s head was throbbing. “Excuse me?”

“As I said, you have let me down. A holiday has passed and you neglected to keep me out of trouble.”

“Holiday? What holiday?”

“Mardi Gras.”

“Mardi Gras. _Mardi Gras_?!”

“Yes,” Zach said haughtily, “It was last night.”

“Are you insane? Mardi Gras is not a holiday, it is an excuse to get day drunk and throw plastic beads at unsuspecting co-eds.”

“It is a legitimate holiday somewhere.”

“Where?”

“New Orleans.”

“Are you in New Orleans? Are you telling me the allure of this specific holiday is so enticing that you’ve managed to travel a thousand miles to celebrate it in the last what—two days?”

“Well, no, but they had a parade at _G Lounge_ , I couldn’t not go.”

“Dude, how did they do a _parade_ in that place?”

“I don’t know, you put a drag queen in a wagon and roll her around the dancefloor? Anyway, that is not my point. You _swore_ you would keep me out of trouble on holidays, and now—“

“Don’t tell me you’re in love again already?” Chris said, interrupting. “It’s been all of two days, Zachary. That’s fast, even for you.”

“No, I did not, but I _might have_ ,” he said frostily.

Chris sighed and then sneezed messily onto his phone. “Ugh,” he groaned and switched it on speaker as he wiped it down with another tissue. “Fine, I apologize for leaving you unprotected. What is the next holiday that poses a risk?”

“I’m glad you said that,” Zach said, and Chris was not imagining the smirk in his voice, was he? “because it just so happens I’ve rented this ski cabin in Aspen the third week of March, and that just so happens to be when St. Patrick’s Day is, so—“

“St. Patrick’s Day?” Chris interrupted. “In Aspen?”

“Well, yeah, Miles said the spring powder was supposed to be the best in Colorado.”

“Do I need to remind you that neither of you is a skier?”

“I just bought a new Bogner ski jacket,” Zach replied, as if that was a legitimate answer. 

“How many vacations did you two plan together—you were back together for all of five minutes. Should I plan on being in Patagonia for Canada Day?”

“Don’t be stupid, we’ll be filming Trek by then,” Zach deadpanned. “Anyway, are you telling me you’ve got better things to do a month from now than keeping me out of trouble?”

“I’m supposed to be working out and bulking up to play Kirk again.”

“Well then all that hot chocolate and legal pot in Colorado will do you good. What do you say?”

“Fine, OK yeah, I’ll meet up with you in Aspen.” Chris sighed and then sneezed again, three times. He grabbed another tissue to try and blow his nose, but he sneezed once more, dropping the phone.

“What was that?” Zach’s voice called out tinnily from the phone’s speaker.

“I sneezed!” Chris said, sneezing again three times in swift succession. 

“Well, jeez, blow your nose or something, Christopher, it sounds awful. You really need to take care of yourself. Get some rest.”

Chris rolled his eyes and hung up without saying goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you March 18!


	6. March 18, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skiing in Aspen brings new adventures. And friends.

“Dude.”

“Dude? We’re dudes now?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to adopt the local patois or whatever.”

“Leave the pot gummies in your room, Zach,” Chris said wearily and tucked back into his late lunch of French onion soup.

Zach rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun anymore.”

“I’ve got news for you, I was never fun.”

“God, why so grumpy?”

Chris sighed. Why, indeed? It wasn’t as if he was having a bad time, not really. It was just that he was always anxious in the time leading up to the filming of a new movie. He knew his life was about to be turned upside down, with long hours, some of them even hard hours, and while he always enjoyed himself, it still made him anxious. He was the same on the night before a trip—always wishing it was over before it had begun.

“Come on, come to the bar with me,” Zach wheedled. 

“It is 3:00 in the afternoon.”

“We’re on vacation.”

“I was hoping to get a couple more runs in on the mountain.”

“Yeah, but you can only do the green clover ones, what fun is that?”

“They’re circles, and you don't even know what that means do you?”

“Besides being my favorite marshmallow in the Lucky Charms box? Nope, nothing.”

“It means a less advanced slope than I usually do, but I can't risk getting hurt this close to when Trek starts filming.”

“You're talking but I don't understand a word. Come on, they make a gorgeous dark and stormy.” Zach plucked at his sleeve in an escalating series of gestures perfectly calibrated to annoy, forcing Chris to get up from the table and go along. 

“Can you have someone bring my check to the bar please?” Chris asked the hostess on his way out of the ski lodge's restaurant, and she nodded and gave him a smile. 

Chris followed Zach into the bar, a beautiful space, all rough-hewn, exposed beams and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the valley. The place was nearly deserted at this hour, and Zach led the way to a banquette in the corner where a young couple were, apparently, waiting for them.

Chris reached out and grabbed a handful of the back of Zach's sweater, pulling him backward abruptly. “Wait a minute, wait just a minute. Who are they?”

Zach looked back at the table and gave the couple a toodle-oo style wave and smile. “What are you talking about? They're a nice brother and sister I found at the club last night. After you bailed on me, I might add.”

“Zach, you know I hate dance clubs, and anyway, I was tired.”

“That is no excuse Christopher, I just got in from Germany.”

He had a point, but Chris refused to budge and what was that all about?

“Anyway, they're really nice and fun, and I thought we could hang out with some new people. You know I’m a social animal, now come on.” He pulled at Chris’s bicep, but his feet were firmly planted and Zach just kind of hung there. 

“Zach, you're supposed to be abstaining.”

“Who says I'm not? Anyway look at him, he's a creepy ginger, ew.”

“Don't be a racist asshole.”

“Was that racist?”

“I'm not sure actually, but it was definitely asshole-ish.” 

“Come oo-onn-nnn-uhh!” Zach said, managing to draw the last word out into four syllables. He tugged at Chris’s arm with more force this time and Chris gave in, allowing himself to be dragged to the table. 

“Hi you guys, I want you to meet my friend Chris,” Zach said brightly when they arrived. They smiled at Chris welcomingly. “Chris, meet Morgan and Sam.” He gestured to each of them in turn. 

“Nice to meet you both,” Chris said, turning a full watt, eye-crinkling smile on them both. It wasn’t their fault he was annoyed at Zach and it wasn't like Chris had anything else to do this afternoon other than suppress his yawns on the bunny slopes. 

“Nice to meet you,” said the man. He was handsome despite Zach's disparagement, with eyes the color of a German shepherd Chris’s aunt had when he was a kid. His shoulder-length hair was pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was, objectively, quite gorgeous, with broad shoulders and a trim physique, and a wide, easy smile showing straight, white teeth. “I'm Morgan, though.” 

Chris glanced at Zach and rolled his eyes at the pair sympathetically. Zach was shit at names, especially with new people.

“Guess that makes me Samantha,” the young woman said. She was blonde, with darker brown eyes, and her chin-length hair curled around her ears as she pushed it behind them. Her mouth quirked when she smiled, and she had a pair of dimples in her cheeks that Chris found charming. 

“Brother and sister, right?” Chris asked.

“Half-siblings,” Morgan qualified.

“My brother from another mother,” Sam added, and nudged him with her shoulder.

“Cool.” Chris found himself leaning over the table and eventually took the seat beside Samantha. 

Zach slid into the banquette at the other end, until his shoulder was touching Morgan’s. “Let’s get some drinks,” he said, waving to a waitress. 

“You guys here on vacation?” Chris asked after they’d ordered, making small talk.

“We’re kind of locals, actually. Our dad’s got a house nearby,” Morgan said.

“Morgan loves the Spring powder,” Sam said. 

“The runs are faster,” he said. “Better than my regular season.”

“Regular season?” Chris asked.

“Morgan’s a competitive Alpine skier,” Zach said, raising his eyebrows.

“Really? That’s pretty interesting! Wow, I’ve never met anyone who’s competed before. Have you ever been in the Olympics?”

“Keeping my fingers crossed for PyeongChang,” he said.

“You should feel his thigh muscles—they’re _rock hard_ ,” Zach said.

“I will have to take your word for it.” He gave Zach a bit of a side-eye, which he promptly ignored. “So what do you do in the off-season?”

Morgan shrugged. “Training, mostly. Grass-skiing is great for keeping in shape, and I cross-train too. I wait tables at night at one of the resorts for spending money. We live rent-free at Dad’s so it’s not too bad.”

“And you?” Chris asked Sam. “What do you do?”

“I do publicity for one of the resorts up here. The pay’s shit, but it keeps me with my baby bro.” She smiled fondly at Morgan, and Chris felt a pang of fondness for his own sister. 

“That’s cool.” 

Their drinks came and Chris lost himself in the conversation. Sam and Morgan were a lot of fun to hang out with, and the conversation drifted from travel—they had both done a lot of it since Morgan competed internationally—to literature to theater. Morgan confessed to having seen Zach on Broadway in _The Glass Menagerie_ , and Sam seemed genuinely interested in Chris’s thoughts on photography. 

It was heading toward dinner time, and Zach started giving Chris the high sign that he’d prefer to move things along. This consisted of Zach raising his eyebrows and cocking his head, then saying, “Hey, Chris, what say we move this along?”

There was much conversation about what to do, but since Sam claimed to be a terrific cook, and Zach had paid extra to have the cabin fully stocked with groceries this time around, they opted for dinner in. Their cabin was within easy walking distance, and they were there within fifteen minutes. 

“Here we are, home sweet home,” Zach sang as the door closed behind them. “For the week, anyway.”

“Wow, it’s pretty huge,” Morgan commented. 

It was—their ‘cabin’ was more like a chalet, with a large, open plan design, picture windows that offered great views of the mountain, a completely tricked-out kitchen, a Jacuzzi in the master bath, and a loft. 

“And cold, brrr,” Zach said with an exaggerated shiver. “Come help me make a fire?”

Morgan smiled and Zach motioned for him to precede him to the fireplace at the center of the great room. Chris rolled his eyes as Zach very pointedly ogled Morgan’s ass before following him.

“He’s a piece of work, isn’t he?” Sam said with a laugh.

“You’re telling me—that fireplace is gas.”

Chris showed Sam into the kitchen, which was well-stocked not only with food but every type of cooking equipment that might be necessary. She efficiently took a quick inventory of everything and ran a few ideas past Chris, “How about pasta? There’s some frozen shrimp in here, and peas and prosciutto. Or—hey! There’s gnocchi too, how do you feel about gorgonzola-cream sauce? Or there’s a couple of steaks?”

Chris stood at the end of the kitchen island bar opening a bottle of wine, his mouth watering more with each new suggestion. “If you’re cooking, I’m eating, so whatever you feel like, really. I still have to put on eight more pounds.”

“Gnocchi it is. Maybe I’ll make the steak to go along with it. Ooo! Shallots!” She pulled ingredients from the fridge and pantry and assembled them on the kitchen island. “Can you open this?” she handed Chris a wedge of brie and turned around to put a pot of water on to boil.

Chris turned the cheese over and over in his hands. It was tightly wrapped and the plastic wrapping it was unbelievably strong. It took him several moments just to find an edge, and when his fingers traced it to its end, it was covered over by the label from the store. 

“So I find it really weird you need to _put on_ weight,” Sam went on. “I thought actors were always minding their carbs or taking cleanses or whatever.” 

Chris finally got an edge of the packaging up, but the plastic was as stretchy as rubber bands and apparently twice as strong. “Yeah, you would think so, but not for Trek. They like a, um, more _stout_ version of me.”

“Doesn’t that make it harder? I mean, then you have to lose all the weight after.” She took up the largest chef’s knife in the knife block, took the cheese from him and sliced its plastic shroud off with little effort, then handed it back to Chris.

He shrugged, finished unwrapping the cheese, and dumped it onto a dinner plate. “Not for me—not so far, anyway. If I just eat like I normally do, the weight comes off.” 

She brought him a jar of fig jam and a spoon and handed them to him. “See, that’s what’s not fair. My brother’s the same way – if he needs to lose weight, he stops drinking soda for like a week. It’s infuriating.”

“Zach’s the complete opposite, though,” Chris said, spooning fig jam on top of the cheese, then going to find a box of crackers. “And believe me, I hear about every pound he has to gain or lose; it can be painful.”

She stopped chopping what she was chopping and looked at him with an odd expression. “So you two…” she pointed the tip of the knife at Chris and then gestured off towards the living room, waving it back and forth, “…are a thing?”

“Me and Zach? No. No, we’re just close friends. A lot of people wonder though—I mean, we sometimes act like an old married couple, but no. We just know each other so well it comes off that way.”

She nodded and went back to decimating a head of Romaine.

“Well, _that_ was hard work!” Zach said, entering the kitchen with Morgan in tow.

“Flipping a switch really takes it out of you,” Chris said.

“Exactly. Gimme some wine.” Zach poured four glasses from the bottle Chris had opened and distributed them, then perched atop one of the stools at the island. Morgan stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him, and the two of them leaned against each other. 

Chris looked away. “Can I help with anything else?” he said to Sam.

Dinner was ready within the hour: grilled ribeyes with some kind of dry rub Sam cooked up, salad, and the gnocchi. The conversation around the table was light and fun, which was nice; Chris really hadn't had the chance to hang with a group of friends since Thanksgiving, and the easy camaraderie he felt tonight was welcome. Zach, too, was on best behavior, charming and erudite as ever, and Chris was grateful to see his friend acting that way again.

The last few months had been harder on him than Zach would have admitted, possibly even to himself. His manner lately was mostly a front. Zach, at his best, was stable and thoughtful—that was, full of thought—and this tendency towards the shallow end of the personality pool was something Chris saw as a defense mechanism. Chris didn't know what had happened to change him, didn't want to cast aspersions because he legitimately liked Miles, but their breakup had been more than the end of a relationship—it had broken something within Zach. And as had ever been the case, a hurting Zach was hell to deal with, but lately there appeared to be a self-destructiveness to it that was not pretty to see. Chris thought imposing his own discipline on Zach might help him get his own back somehow.

At least he hoped so. 

“OK, who wants dessert?” Chris said. “There’s some sort of caramel-truffle-chocolate-salted-cake-batter ice cream monstrosity in the freezer. Who’s game?”

“Oh, not me,” Zach said, rubbing a hand over his belly. “That Spock costume does me no favors, and we start filming soon.”

“In June!” Chris pointed out. “Come on, come help me clear and get the ice cream.”

Zach followed him into the kitchen, leaving the stack of dishes he’d been carrying on the counter beside the sink and sprawling himself across the counter, looking up at Chris with large eyes. “So… Morgan’s pretty hot, huh?”

“He is,” Chris said, wrapping up the leftovers, “but do I need to remind you of our little deal? No new hook-ups for a year.”

Zach’s eyes went round and he stood up, a hand on his chest. “You said no relationships—you didn’t say I had to remain _celibate_!!”

“With you, they’re virtually the same thing.”

He pouted. “But he’s _so cute_! And smart and fun. And for that matter, so is Samantha—you’re going to tell me you’re not finding her appealing in the least?”

“I find her plenty appealing, but I told you, it’s more than one-night stands for me—it has to be. The next person I share a bed with, I hope to share my life with.”

“You’re no fun anymore.”

“Well, I’m sorry if my journey toward self-actualization is pooping your party.”

Zach stuck his tongue out. 

Chris rolled his eyes and grabbed some bowls from the cupboard, then the ice cream from the freezer. “I don’t know what exactly you expected when you agreed to this, Zachary, but you did agree to it, and I don’t think it’s too much to expect you to at least give it a shot.” _Your fucking self-esteem is on the line, moron,_ he mentally added.

Zach sighed then grabbed a bunch of spoons from a drawer, then the ice cream carton from Chris’s hand. “Fine, if I’m to be a monk, I might as well be a _fat one._ ” He stalked off back to the dining area.

The mood was somewhat more subdued when Chris arrived, so he suggested they retire to the living room to eat on the couch. When they finished, Sam stood up and walked around the room, exploring the space. When she got to the shelving beside the fireplace, she squealed with delight, getting all their attention. “Look what I found!” she said, bending over to retrieve something from a bottom shelf.

“Scrabble?” Chris said.

“Ohmigod, no, Sammy,” Morgan said, though he had a smile on his face.

“What?” Zach asked.

“Sam is a bit of a cutthroat Scrabble player.”

“Ugh, so is Chris,” Zach said, commiserating. 

“Don’t even start, Morgan,” Sam protested. “You’re just as bad as I am!

“We were so competitive with each other when we were kids, we would have screaming fights over the board, our dad forbade us to play in mixed company.”

“God, remember that fight that one time at Christmas? I thought you might slit my throat when I went to sleep.”

She came up behind where he sat on the couch and leaned forward, draping her arms around his neck. “Yeah, well, you cheated.” She kissed him on the side of the neck.

He flinched, trying to dislodge her. “I did not—‘syzygy’ is totally a real word.”

“Yeah, but there aren’t three Y tiles in the game—you cheated!” She stood up and ruffled his hair fondly, then sat down on the couch beside Chris. 

“We should play in teams,” Zach suggested, slipping a hand into the crook of Morgan’s elbow and hugging onto his upper arm, caressing it appreciatively with the other hand. Chris tried to give him the side-eye, but he willfully ignored him, instead opening up the game box and setting it up on the coffee table.

They decided to use the same amount of tiles as if they were playing separately, which would allow for larger words, Chris supposed. Morgan and Zach were to go first, so they conferred for a while, but it was clear that Zach had an idea he wanted to play, so Morgan allowed it. 

He laid out the tiles: K I S S E S

“Oh, how sweet!” Sam exclaimed, and marked the score card with his points. 

Chris stared at the board and his tiles with deliberation, arranging them in a word and showing them to Sam; she nodded approvingly and he played them: B E H A V E

Morgan laughed, Zach scowled, and Chris felt more self-satisfied than was wholly healthy.

The next word Morgan played was innocuous: P L U C K; as was Sam’s, or so Chris thought: C O M E.

Smirking, Zach played his word almost immediately, laying down P H A L U S

Morgan snorted and rocked back on the couch, laughing. “Hilarious!”

“It’s spelled wrong,” Chris pointed out sourly, but much to his chagrin, Zach was whispering into Morgan’s ear. The other man nodded and rose, as did Zach.

“Well, it’s been fun, kids, but—“ he yawned and stretched dramatically, “I’ve just had such a trying day and this jetlag is really catching up to me. Think I’ll head to bed.” 

Chris narrowed his eyes at him. _Come on, man, we had a deal,_ he tried to convey through the power of his mind—or at least his best bitchface.

Zach tossed his head to the side as if his still-buzzed hair was back to the luxuriant forelock he traditionally sported, as if to say, _I am no monk._

Chris crossed his arms lightly. _Fine, don’t come crying to me when it all goes to shit and your heart’s broken._

Zach’s face went blank. _Let me get out of here before my boner shows,_ Chris imagined him thinking as he took Morgan’s hand and led him to the back of the chalet where the master bedroom was.

Chris sighed.

“Well, that escalated quickly,” Sam said, but she was laughing lightly, as if she’d been through this before. Chris wondered if he looked the same to her. “Shall we keep playing and split their points?”

“Sure.”

“My turn,” she said, and placed three more tiles on the board after the final ‘S’ of ‘kisses’: N O W 

It took a second, but Chris realized it was an illegal play. “Hey,” he said, pointing, “that’s not—“ 

Before he could get another word out, Sam was kissing him, her lips soft and warm on his. Her body pressed against his side was more welcome than he would admit wanting, and when she rested a small hand on his inner thigh, he surged forward and took her face in his hands, kissing her back with gusto. 

He wasn’t sure how long they made out, but when she climbed suddenly into his lap, he finally came back to his senses.

“Oops!” he said, pulling away. 

“What?” She glanced at his crotch.

“Nope, nope, sorry!” He placed his hands on her hips and gently guided her back to the couch.

“Excuse me?” She looked at him with consternation, her hair tousled from his hands, lips still wet and slightly swollen, and he very nearly gave in. She was beautiful and funny and he knew he would have a good time with her, but this was not what he was about anymore. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“If I led you to believe something that wasn’t true. I… am not going to sleep with you.”

She sat back and gave him a long look while Chris squirmed; he wondered if he’d been too presumptuous.

“Huh.” She shook her head.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just thought we had a kind of,” she gestured between them, “rapport. Or something.”

“Oh, we do. I mean, you’re really great, and beautiful and funny and great, but I’m… I’m just not in the right place for something like this in my life.”

“Guiltless, mind-blowing sex?”

“Sex with someone I’m not going to see again,” he explained, spreading his hands. “I don’t expect you to understand, really, but I’ve got this kind of… rule.”

“How highly evolved of you.”

“Thanks,” he said reflexively, but he didn’t think she was being complimentary. “I just… I’ve had all the mind-blowing sex—not that it still wouldn’t be good!” he hastened to add when she looked outraged, “but I want something else, something real. I told myself a long time ago I wouldn’t just fool around with people to scratch an itch. It has to mean something, has to go somewhere. I hope you understand.”

She gave him a long look. At last her face relaxed and she smiled her crooked smile. “I don’t know if I can really understand, but I can respect it,” she said.

“I’m still sorry,” he added.

“Don’t be, it’s your life, and your body, and I can’t believe this is the conversation I’m having with a famous movie star.” She stood. “For the record, the sex would have been mind-blowing.”

“I have no doubt.”

“Well, shit, now what?”

“More Scrabble?”

“Don’t think so, I’m… kinda keyed up.” 

“I’m—“

“Don’t apologize again, you shouldn’t do that about something you believe. But I’m just gonna—“ she gestured toward the other end of the cabin with her thumb, indicating the direction Zach and Morgan had gone, “join the other party, already in progress.”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “Godspeed,” he said, and watched her go. 

\----

Chris settled in under the thick eiderdown comforter, grateful for its warmth. While he loved skiing, he was still a California boy, and the cold weather was not his favorite. After Sam had left him, he cleaned up the kitchen as best he could and went to his own bedroom, which was in the loft on the second floor. Skiing always took it out of him, even if his day had been spent on the bunny slopes, and he was looking forward to a long and restful sleep.

He blanked his mind, making an effort to ignore most of the events of the last hour or so, and stared out of the skylight above his head. It was a clear night, and the stars were plentiful, and it was times like this that he could understand Captain Kirk’s desire to spend his life among them. 

He let his eyes drift shut and was just about to fall asleep, when a short, sharp sound, followed by the sensation of someone sitting on his bed, roused him completely. “What the--?”

“Shh, it’s me,” Zach said in a stage whisper. “You asleep?”

“Not anymore.”

“Good, move over.” He pulled the comforter down, letting a blast of cold air underneath. 

Chris stiffened and tried to pull the covers back over himself. “Zach! You have a bed.”

“It got a little crowded. Now scoot!” He got in. 

“Your feet are cold!” Chris protested.

“Come on, shut up and move over.”

Chris complied and they lay on their sides facing each other once Zach got settled. “You want to tell me what you’re doing here and not down in your own room, the one with the Jacuzzi and two hot ski bums in it?”

“That would be the reason.”

“The two hot ski bums?”

“Yeah, you know, the idea of a threesome with siblings? Only hot in theory.”

Chris frowned.

“Kinda gross, actually, in practice. I do have standards.”

“Really.”

“Shut up.”

“But that’s too bad, you seemed to really hit it off with your future ex-boyfriend.”

“Hardy har-har, Christopher. Anyway, they were more into each other than me.”

Chris suppressed a snort. “I’m sure they won’t be selling any of your stuff on eBay or anything.”

“Don’t be unkind, they were still nice people.”

“True.”

“Plus, I made sure they left, I’m not a total idiot!”

“So do you see what I mean about how just jumping into things can cause complications?” Chris said, unable to resist an _I told you so_. 

“I suppose,” Zach replied, rolling over onto his back. “But all I really meant to do was get my freak on, I swear.”

Chris grunted.

“Turned out the freak was on me.” He shuddered. “I think I’m more vanilla than I thought I was.” He draped an arm over his eyes.

“Yeah, me too,” Chris said, and turned over onto his opposite side. 

Sharing a bed with Zach was not a rare occurrence. When they were on press tours, they often wound up in one or the other’s room and, after too many late nights or cocktails or both, would inevitably fall asleep. Zach was a heavy sleeper and didn’t snore, and neither of them were much for flailing about, so it was a good arrangement. 

Chris made sure the covers were over every little bit of him before snuggling against his pillow with a sigh. Behind him, Zach turned over to face him, inching a bit closer. A moment later, he felt Zach’s hand on the back of his t-shirt as he lightly grabbed a fistful of material, then he let himself relax fully. Zach preferred contact with _some_ living thing when he slept, a quirk he’d confessed to Chris had stemmed from childhood fears following his dad’s death. At home, he had his dogs, and here he had Chris. 

Chris didn’t mind, it was kind of nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you again on Easter Monday!


	7. April 6, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easter in Pittsburgh

Chris was in agony, only he didn’t feel like singing about it.

“Ohhh-oooo-eeeee-aaaahhh!” he moaned.

“I’m pretty sure you missed a couple of vowels,” Zach said from somewhere behind him.

“Please shut up.”

Zach laughed.

“And could you, like, stand downwind? Your Axe body spray fucking reeks.”

There came the sound of shuffling footsteps, and Zach’s face swung into view, a petulant look smeared across it. “It’s not Axe, I’ll have you know, it’s—“

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure the rare pheromones and Alpine botanicals cost a pretty penny, but the smell is still making me want to hurl.” Chris was lying flat on his back on the pull-out couch in Zach’s mom’s den. Zach had invited him to come out for Easter weekend, and he’d gladly accepted. He loved Margo; she was kind and brash and loving—just like her sons—and twice as funny. “Do you Italians serve lasagna for _every occasion_?”

“Only for big holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter. And birthdays. And anniversaries. And if you get straight A’s on your report card. Nope, it’s pretty much every Sunday, actually.” 

Chris groaned. 

“I told you to pace yourself.” 

“Did there have to be ham _and_ turkey?” 

“Mom likes you; I think she was showing off. I’m thinking the second helping of carrot cake is what did you in.”

Chris’s groan edged up into whine territory.

“Anyway, I brought you something to make you feel better.” He took a seat beside Chris, who noticed he was carrying a glass of water, a spoon, and a squat, blue bottle of something under his arm. 

“What is it?” Zach held the bottle up and Chris read the red letters, “Brioschi?”

“For your agita.” 

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s…” Zach gestured vaguely at Chris’s person, “you.” He unscrewed the cap and doled out two heaping spoons full of a white powder; the water in the glass fizzed and Chris caught the faint aroma of citrus. Zach handed the glass to him.

Chris looked at him like he’d just offered him poison.

“You’re supposed to drink it.”

Chris pushed himself to a sitting position, wincing; his stomach was so full he wondered if it was possible for it to rupture. He took the glass from Zach and balked. “If I drink this, I’m either gonna puke or explode.”

“Either way, you’ll be out of your misery,” Zach pointed out cheerfully. “Drink it—mom always used to give it to us when we were kids, and it works.”

Chris gave him a sour look but drank anyway. A few seconds later, he burped and felt a little better. He handed the glass back to Zach gratefully. “Why do I do this to myself?”

“You really want to know?”

“No.”

Zach laughed and leaned over to ruffle Chris’s hair. “I’ll let you get some sleep—we’re supposed to be at the school tomorrow at 9, and it’s already after 1:00. I know how you like your beauty rest.”

“Preferably with a beauty,” Chris answered; it was an old and corny joke.

“Except not so much lately, huh?” Zach said with a smile before shutting the door behind him.

\----

The next morning, Chris accompanied his friend on a trip down memory lane. 

Zach had been asked by his middle school drama teacher to come talk to her current batch of students, who were busily getting ready to put on their Spring musical. Chris was kind of psyched for it—any opportunity to delve beneath Zach’s carefully-crafted veneer of detached hipster hauteur was never to be missed, and where better to experience that than in the presence of a woman who knew him before his voice changed? Trying to contain his obvious glee was almost impossible.

Despite Chris having believed it to be a made-up name all the years he’d known Zach, _Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow_ Roman Catholic Parochial School was a real place. It had been built adjacent to a church of the same name. Both were constructed of the same dull grey granite blocks, and were situated on what looked to be about five acres of land set back from a tree-lined street. 

Zach parked the rental car in the Visitor section adjacent to the church and they walked over to the school. The building itself was two stories, and reminded Chris of the kinds of administrative buildings he’d seen when he visited the Presidio in San Francisco, though the holiday-themed construction paper art hanging in the windows were a dead giveaway. On closer inspection, these appeared to be not just Easter baskets, but depictions of the cross with a flowing cloth hanging from it that Chris found to be wholly disturbing as a motif for young children’s art. A small playground had been built adjacent to it, with swings, a couple of slides, and monkey bars—the usual things. 

“What’s that building over there?” Chris asked, pointing at a red brick house at the other end of the grounds.

“The convent,” Zach answered. “When I was a kid, the nuns who taught at the school lived there. I don’t think there are any more living there, though.”

“Why not?”

Zach shrugged. “Not a whole lot of nuns in the world these days. It’s just not the career option most young girls go for, I guess.”

“What’s that building?” Chris asked, indicating another house, adjacent to the church. 

“The rectory, where the priests live.”

“Heh. Rectory.”

“Real original, Pine.” Zach hauled open the main door and led Chris to the front office, where they were required to sign in. It was early enough in the day that there weren’t that many students around, though the presence of a pair of movie actors didn't go unnoticed by some of the younger members of staff.

Since they were there to visit a teacher, they needed to wait for her in order to be escorted to the classroom. Mrs. Doris Dutkiewicz—DeeDee to her friends and students—looked to Chris to be in her mid-60’s. She was nearly as tall as Chris, with broad shoulders and iron grey curls she kept clasped in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. The moment she saw Zach, her brown eyes lit up and her face became animated with joy. 

“Zachary, oh, my boy!” she exclaimed, and pulled him into a tight embrace that Zach clearly was anticipating with much relish.

“DeeDee, ohmigod, it’s been so long!” She planted a wet kiss on his ear and released him. “This is my friend, Chris.”

“Of course he is,” she said. Her manner was so warm and motherly, Chris couldn’t help but feel like a million bucks when she turned her attention on him. “I don’t think Captain Kirk needs an introduction.”

“I suppose not,” Chris said with a smile. 

“But I think Mr. Karos might. I think he may have been your most complex character, even if not much of it was explicated on screen. I would like to talk to you about what went into his development very much.”

‘You, um… really?” Chris didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or flattered that this woman had seen such depths in a character that spent half his screen time bare-assed naked. 

“I’m sure the costuming had a lot to do with it,” Zach said with a smirk.

“Oh, now, Zachary, are you trying to embarrass me?” she said with a merry laugh.

“I know you too well to think I’d succeed, DeeDee.”

They laughed and left together, arm-in arm, with Chris trailing in their wake. They walked slowly, with their heads close together, alternately whispering and giggling, until they reached a classroom on the second floor at the opposite end of the building.

“Now, the kids know they’re to have a guest today, but they don’t know who it is, so can you both stay here until I introduce you?”

They both nodded as she strode into the classroom filled with kids, who had been talking animatedly in her absence. but Zach watched the scene unfold through the narrow glass window set into the door, his eyes glittering.

“All right class!” he heard DeeDee say through the door, clapping her hands loudly. “Settle down! This week, we'll learn all about methods for using our bodies to create our characters. Up until now, we've focused on what?” 

There was no response. 

“Emotion? Yes, and what else?” she prompted, again unsuccessfully. “Can you remember the building blocks we discussed before break? Name any of them. Any single one. I can think of one that begins with an M...” 

Still nothing. 

“Come on kids I know you're all bummed because spring break is over, but trust me, not half as bummed as I am. I was in Miami this time last week sipping mai tais with Mr. D., so you know, cry me a big, damn river.” 

That got a laugh. 

“So what's the M-word?”

“Motivation?” A girl's voice asked. 

“That's right. Thank you, Jessica. And what else?”

“Relationships?”

“Excellent, Andre. What else?”

“History!” Another boy said. 

“Good. All of those are things we use in order to inform our characters, give them depth, and a strong foundation for us to build our performance on. Today, we're going to focus on using our physicality as an expression of character. And to do that, we have a very special guest to demonstrate.” 

The excitement in her voice ratcheted up, and she was almost breathless as she continued, “So please be on best behavior and give a warm OLPS welcome to this school's most famous alumnus. You probably know him best as Mr. Spock, but I remember him when he was a surly little snot just like the rest of you.” That got a laugh, even out of Chris. 

Zach grinned at Chris. “Hey, stay out here until I introduce you too, OK?”

“Sure,” Chris agreed, amused. He wouldn’t want to trample on Zach’s moment to shine. In the last two days since they arrived in Pittsburgh, he’d simply come alive in a way Chris hadn’t seen in some time. Maybe it was something in the air (or possibly his mother’s lasagna), but Zach was once more showing the joyful, engaged side of himself Chris remembered most from when they’d first become friends all those years ago.

“Boys and girls, without further ado, here he is, Zachary Quinto!”

There was an excited murmur and a round of applause as Zach entered the room. Chris caught a glimpse before the door closed as he stood beside DeeDee and gave a short bow, coming up with his hands together as if in supplication. The kids ate it right up, clapping and basically losing their shit for a few minutes, until DeeDee got them in line. 

“On to our lesson! As actors, we can use our bodies to convey character, emotion, and environment. The body can work in harmony with the dialogue or in contrast to it, depending on the needs of the scene. And the body can tell a story without any dialogue at all!

“OK! Since Zachary is our helper for the day, for our first exercise, I’m going to ask him to move around the room as if he’s walking in some different environments. You ready?” 

Chris had moved so he could see into the classroom through the door’s tiny window. He had a decent view of the front of the room. The front of the room had a slightly elevated platform built into it, a tiny stage upon which the students would perform, Chris guessed. Zach was standing in the middle of it.

DeeDee stood in the corner and called out a variety of conditions for Zach to act out. “OK Zachary, it is a lovely spring day!”

Zach walked back and forth on the small dais with exaggerated movements, a jaunty kick in his step and an open smile on his face as he looked up at a presumably sunny sky and grinned as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He stopped at last and rested his hands on his hips, taking a deep cleansing breath. 

“Rain,” DeeDee called out

Zach flinched as if a thunder clap had sounded overhead and turned his collar up, ducking his head down between his shoulders and darting about the stage as if running for shelter.

“Hurricane!”

Zach halted suddenly and leaned forward into an imaginary gale, teeth gritted and face set with determination as he mimed trying to walk against the winds. He held his arms up to shield himself.  
DeeDee clapped, followed by the children, and Zach relaxed, bowing to his audience again. 

“OK, now I think we'll move onto the next exercise, using our bodies to show emotion,” DeeDee went on. “We probably do that every day, right? We raise our eyebrows in surprise, hunch our shoulders in certain ways if we’re feeling down, or tired, right? Those are all things to consider when creating our characters—how would they hold themselves when they’re in the midst of an argument? Or when they’re watching the guy or girl they like kiss someone else? What do they do with their hands, with their feet? 

“So I’m going to ask Zachary to show us a little more, only I think he's brought someone else along, another helper, haven't you Zachary?”

“I have, actually. He's a really good friend, and the most talented actor I know. He’s the Kirk to my Spock, the guy who keeps me out of trouble. Give it up for Mr. Chris Pine!!”

The class erupted in cheers and applause and Chris felt a surge of adrenaline as he entered the room. Now that he was inside, he saw it was larger than he’d initially thought, with a set of desks set up near the front, facing the “stage.” There were about two dozen kids sitting there, clapping with excitement as he came to a halt beside Zach and held his hand up. “Good morning!” 

“Oh my god, it's Prince Charming!” one excitable young girl exclaimed, perhaps louder than she’d intended, and everyone laughed. 

“Settle down,” DeeDee said, and the kids immediately did. She went on, “I’m going to ask Chris and Zach to act out some basic emotions. But here's the challenge, they're going to call them out to each other. All right?”

“Sounds good,” Chris said. 

“You can go first,” Zach said magnanimously.

“Very well. Hit me.”

Zach made a show of thinking about it, the hammy asshole, and the kids ate it up. At last he seemed to be struck with insight, and he called it out, “Chris, your emotion is… determination.” 

_Too easy,_ Chris thought, but found himself drawing a blank as soon as he tried to translate it into motivation. He couldn’t immediately imagine how to do it without having dialogue to say or react to.

“Take your time,” Zach said smugly.

 _Fuck you,_ Chris thought back at him, but smiled. Finally, he gave up and decided to go broad.

Standing up tall and centering his torso like he had been taught to do in yoga, he took a deep breath and mimed looking down on a huge thing—in his imagination, it was a large, heavy box. Hunkering himself down, he attempted to lift it, but it was too heavy and he had to let it drop. Standing there scratching his head, he thought a moment, then tried again, this time with more gusto. He wrenched himself upwards and winced, mugging in pain at the audience, like he’d hurt his back. He limped around in a tight circle to the sympathetic moans of not a few of the girls—and boys—and gave it one more try. Naturally, he wound up on his ass, and mimed cursing the thing out with broad gestures, shaking his fist at it. Finally, he limped off to the side, pretended to grab a handcart and loaded the thing on, walking away with a self-satisfied air. 

It was corny and way too broad, but apparently everyone loved it, because there was much applause. He inclined his head in thanks. 

“Not bad,” Zach commented, coming up to clap him on the back. “Now it’s my turn.”

“Your turn,” Chris said, and immediately knew what he would have him do. “Zachary, please convey for the class the emotion of contrition.”

Zach was flummoxed. “Contrition?”

“Yeah, contrition—is there not something you would tell anyone you’re sorry for? Like, perhaps, an ex?” Chris asked, his eyes shining. 

Zach gave him a murderous look.

“Good one,” DeeDee remarked, and noted Zach's reaction. “Come now, Zachary, you're a good Catholic boy, show us some contrition.”

Zach gave her a helpless look and she laughed at him. But suddenly, his face blanked and he raised his eyebrows, fell down on his knees, and held his hands out beseechingly. His face was the definition of remorse, his shoulders bowed with humility, and Chris was sure if he was given long enough, he’d have produced a single, perfect tear, the dick.

“Good one, good contrition!” Chris remarked, clapping. Now it was his turn and he wondered what Zach would come back at him with. 

“Christopher, your emotion is... grief.”

“Damn you,” he muttered, but he smiled. This was something he usually needed to prepare extensively for, and Zach knew what he went through to be able to do it. What’s more, Zach always told him he was pretty when he cried, a fact Chris thought to be patently untrue, but whatever. He was supposed to be using his body, so he reasoned not producing actual tears would necessarily be a problem. 

Taking a deep breath, he allowed his face to fall along with his shoulders, as if he was standing under a great weight. He pretended he had just come upon the dead body of a loved one, and reached out to them with a trembling hand he then pulled it back. He fell to his knees and raised his hands, as if he would tear his hair, then dropped them. Finally he hunkered down even more, reaching for the body as if contact was simultaneously the only thing he needed and the last thing he wanted. He let his shoulders shake and collapsed down a bit further, hugging himself and rocking slightly on his knees. 

Somewhere, a young person gasped. He must have nailed it. He stood up with a grin to much applause. 

“Excellent,” DeeDee called out. “One more!”

Chris eyed Zach, who looked back at him smugly. “Speed round!” he declared. “And this time you have to do them all as Spock.”

Zach's eyes widened and Chris expected him to call him a name, but instead he said, in his most perfect Spock voice, “Challenge accepted.”

Chris laughed, enjoying himself. “Show us happiness.”

Zach cocked his head to the side. “Happiness is a state reflective of one’s inner gratification or pleasure. As such a state is inherently emotional, I posit that happiness is illogical.”

Chris grinned; Zach was going to have to start writing some of Spock’s dialogue. He found slipping into Kirk’s headspace to be not unlike donning a favorite garment, and stretched his shoulders as if testing the fit. “And yet I have seen you exhibit pleasure—or at least self-satisfaction—on numerous occasions, Mr. Spock.”

Zach raised an eyebrow.

“Very well, Mr. Spock, shall we go with one I _know_ you are capable of?” He laid a hand at his own throat. “Anger.”

Zach-as-Spock betrayed a flash of annoyance, and then his face blanked once more. A moment later, his dark eyes glittered and narrowed and his breathing sped up fractionally as he seethed stoically.

“Very good,” Chris said, “just like I remember. For your next challenge, I would like to see… humor.”

Zach opened his mouth as if to repeat his position regarding the display of the emotion happiness, then closed it again, mindful of repeating himself. One corner of his mouth—the right—quirked up and his face betrayed no other emotion. 

“Very nice,” Chris said in his most archly arrogant Kirk voice. “One more, one I am positive you feel: Impatience.”

Zach, standing now at “parade rest”, merely raised an eyebrow and did nothing else.

Chris’s eyes twinkled with good humor. “Why, Mr. Spock, that appears to be the exact same expression you offer whenever I give you an order. Are you saying you are impatient with me at all times?”

“Indeed, Captain, _I_ have said no such thing,” Zach replied.

The entire room erupted in laughter and applause, particularly DeeDee, who cheered them as well. Chris and Zach grinned at each other like idiots and took their bows.

“That was terrific! Zachary, Christopher, I think that deserves another huge round of applause!” DeeDee said, prompting the kids, some of whom stood to give a standing ovation. 

Chris was touched and completely jazzed by their applause; it was rare that he got such an immediate reaction from any audience, and it was a welcome feeling 

“I think we have time for one more exercise,” DeeDee said. “It's time for us all to participate, to work on what we've learned. Has everyone been in a photo booth?” She waited for indications that at least most of the class had before continuing. “Let’s all break up into pairs and use our bodies to tell a story, all right? It can be any kind of story—a surprise party, or someone being proposed to. Only you won’t get to move. Just like in a photo booth, you’ve got just four poses to tell your story, so make them count. Make sure your story has a beginning, a middle and an end – you’ll be graded on how well that is conveyed.”

DeeDee paused for the instructions to sink in, then turned to Chris and Zach. “And since we have such kind and obliging professionals here today, we'll pair them up as well. Our spring musical is going to be _Beauty and the Beast_ , so I think I’ll pair Zachary with our Belle, Jessica.” She indicated an African American girl in the front row, who gasped and covered her mouth with a shaking hand. 

“And our Beast, Cody, will partner with Christopher.” Chris scanned the room looking for this Cody kid, whose identity quickly became apparent due to the host of young girls throwing him the stinkeye in jealousy. Chris nearly laughed. 

Chris took up a spot at the front corner of the dais and waited for Cody, a scrawny 12-year old with dirty-blond hair and gangly limbs, to slouch over. Meanwhile, Jessica remained rooted to her chair, trembling and looking like she was on the verge of tears. Zach approached her like he would a skittish animal, with open palms and a soothing voice. Chris was close enough to overhear them.

“Hey, I bet you never thought you'd be doing this when you ate your breakfast this morning,” he said to her gently. He got down on one knee so his head was beneath hers. 

She shook her head no, eyes wide as she looked at him.

“Well, I didn't think I'd get to act opposite the prettiest girl in class, so maybe we're even.” 

That got a nervous laugh. 

“But I'm just a regular guy, I promise. And these nerves you're feeling? Remember that. Internalize it, because you can use it later. All right?”

He held a hand out to her and she nodded as she took it, looking marginally less freaked out now. They went to the other side of the room and Chris's attention was diverted by the arrival of Cody, who stood beside him watching Zach and Jessica across the room with a sour look on his face. 

“Something wrong?” Chris asked him. 

“How come he gets to be with her?”

Chris shrugged. “I dunno, cuz DeeDee said?”

The kid muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“She's the coolest and the smartest. He doesn't deserve her.”

Chris was amused. “Come on, man, don't you think he's a little, I don’t know, _mature_ for her?”

“Exactly. He's an older guy. Now I’ll get no chance with her!”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, kid. That dog won't hunt.”

“Huh?”

“Forget it.” Chris clapped his hands together. “So… character development!”

\----

DeeDee had a free period after class was over. They accompanied her to the teacher’s lounge so she and Zach could catch up. 

Chris had never been inside such a room in his life—they were always so mysterious to him as a kid, the doors large and heavy, making his mind run wild with the kinds of things that might go on inside. Every possibility—from bad kids being tortured on racks to images of drug-fueled sex orgies—had crossed his fertile imagination throughout his more formative years. In actuality, it was like a large, homey kitchen, with several tables and chairs set up, and a couple of beat-up couches. A soda and snack machine stood at one end, along with two refrigerators, a microwave, a Keurig (were they everywhere?), and a tiny cappuccino machine, to which DeeDee turned as soon as they entered. It made a pretty decent espresso.

“So, Zachary, catch me up,” DeeDee said as soon as they were settled at a table beside a window. They had a view of the playground, though it was still too early in the day for anyone to be out there. Chris took note of the remnants of the winter’s snow, dirty piles of ice clinging to existence at the far edges of the parking lot. 

Zach and DeeDee chatted and it was comfortable and affectionate. Zach was bright and relaxed around her, she encouraging and motherly toward him. He asked her about her kids and she about his mother, and the whole conversation reminded Chris of something he hadn't noticed he’d missed. This entire weekend—but especially now, with his childhood mentor—Zach had been as engaged with people as Chris had ever seen him be. He was kind and thoughtful, particularly with young Jessica, and genuinely cared about the welfare of DeeDee’s family. Chris realized he hadn’t seen this side to Zach in a long while, and just how much he missed it. How long had it been? Since before Miles, probably. What had happened to change him? And how had Chris not noticed? At any rate, he was glad to have the “old” Zach back. 

Eventually, Zach rose from the table. “If you will excuse me, I think it’s time for the usual pilgrimage.”

Chris was confused, and it showed on his face.

“My old locker,” Zach explained. “Every time I’m back, I pay it a little visit.” Chris started to rise to go with him, but Zach held up a hand. “No need to come along, this is a one-man mission. I’ll be back.” He walked out, leaving Chris and DeeDee alone at the table.

“It’s kind of a love-hate thing,” DeeDee explained to Chris’s bewildered expression. “The number of times he was shoved up against that thing, you’d think he’d want to steer clear.”

Chris nodded, his eyes returning to the door Zach had just left through. “He’s never been one to back down from a fight.”

“No,” she agreed. 

Chris wondered how much she had seen. They both stared into their empty coffee cups for a moment. 

DeeDee broke the silence. “How is he doing? Really?”

There was a knowing aspect in her eyes, and a kind of fierce love too, and Chris knew he couldn’t lie to her. “Life’s kicked him in the ass a bit the last few months. But he’s pulling out of it.”

“You’re helping him.”

“I’m trying. If he would calm down long enough, that is.”

She smiled ruefully. “That’s our Zachary, though, isn’t it? All brash front and nothing sticks to him, like emotional Teflon.” 

Chris nodded in agreement. 

“But then he’ll become infatuated and latch onto new people like a limpet, because he craves that human connection as much as the next person. He hides a lot of pain behind that front, you know.”

“I know.”

“It’s when it gets to be too much that he is most likely to shut down and run away, especially from those most important to him,” she continued. 

Chris shrugged and went to sip his coffee; he realized it was empty.

“I’m happy to see him with someone who accepts that and won't let him get away with it.” 

“We’re just friends.”

“Just friends is a good start. Another coffee?”

\----

“Tell me more about you and DeeDee,” Chris said. 

Once Chris and Zach had taken about a hundred selfies with the staff and teachers, they left, and Zach took Chris out for his favorite “hoagie,” which turned out to be just another word for a sub. They’d then driven down to a path along the river and were sitting on a park bench, staring out over the water as they ate.

“Sometimes I say she saved my life, and I’m not being entirely hyperbolic,” Zach said, taking a bite of his sandwich and wiping the oil and vinegar off his lips with a napkin. “When my dad died, I was an angry kid for a long time. I was small for my age, and I picked a lot of fights.”

“Why do I believe that?” Chris said with a smile.

Zach smirked. “I usually lost. DeeDee was my 4th grade English teacher, and when I finally got to her class, she took one look at me and told me to cut the shit.”

“Did she use those words?”

“You have to ask? But she saw inside to what I was hiding, saw through my bullshit, reached me when no one else could.”

“How?”

“She was in charge of the school plays, and when I kept getting in trouble, she offered me a choice: either sign up or rot in detention.”

“Is that when you were bitten by the theater bug?”

“They were doing Robin Hood and I played Friar Tuck and got to bash other kids over the head with a staff.”

“So the appeal was obvious.”

“Exactly. What I didn’t realize she was doing was giving me an outlet for that anger, and later, my anger over being different. I’ve known I was gay since before I even had words for it. I don’t know if she saw that too, but having a channel for it helped a lot.”

“She helps you a lot,” Chris observed.

“She always has, she’s like my second mother.”

“I meant now—you seem calmer, somehow.”

“I’m always calmer when I’m in the ‘burgh, that’s for sure. It’s weird. I mean, the place isn’t without its demons for me, but they’re mostly ones I’ve slain.”

“Ones she helped you slay?”

“Yeah. She’s always understood me.” Zach picked an errant onion from his sandwich and chucked it to the ground. “Just like you.”

Chris blinked, taken aback. “Oh, I don’t think—“

“Don’t you?” He paused, lost in thought; the silence stretched. “I don’t think you realize how off balance being with Miles made me. I don’t think I do, really. I know I loved him—desperately. But we brought out the worst in each other. We’d fight, and make up, and fuck, and the whole process would happen all over again. I knew it would be a disaster and I watched it happen. Miles didn't make me a better person and I didn't make him one either. We were toxic and I didn't care.”

“Well, at least you know that now?”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t happen again. There’s something wrong inside me that makes me poison every relationship I’ve ever had.”

Chris found that hard to believe. “Surely not every relationship.”

Zach looked at him for a long beat. “No, not every one. Not with DeeDee. Or my family.”

“See?”

“Or you.”

“Shut up.” Chris looked out over at the river, where a pair of swans floated by trailed by a crowd of loudly quacking ducks. When he glanced back at Zach, he was watching Chris with an intense expression in his eyes. 

“I know,” Chris finally said quietly, and looked down at the barely-eaten hoagie he held. He took a bite. "So… mortadella... Is the whole of Italian cuisine designed to give you heart disease?"

“’Morte’ means death, doesn’t it?”

“Remind me to go on a cleanse when we get back to LA.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the acting lesson DeeDee uses goes to the website [Theatrefolk,](https://www.theatrefolk.com/free-resources) which has a bunch of free resources for teachers.
> 
> A note about the school: It is a completely made up name, but I am assuming that the parochial schools in Pittsburgh are arranged along a similar model to the ones I attended, with grades K through 8th at one school, and 9th through 12th at another.
> 
> See you all for the next chapter the day after Memorial Day, May 26.


	8. May 26, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memorial Day in Vancouver brings news for Zach.

Chris awakened with a start, momentarily disoriented by unfamiliar surroundings. The rented house in Vancouver was so much darker than his own at home; this was probably exacerbated by the fact it was raining outside. 

Welcome to the Pacific Northwest, he supposed. 

Sighing, he relaxed his shoulders, then realized with not a little surprise that he was not alone. Glancing down, he caught a glimpse of a tousled brown head resting on his shoulder, and the slope of a familiar nose. Zach sleeping in his bed was not in and of itself unusual. The fact they were both naked, however, was. 

_What the hell had happened last night?_

“Aw fuck,” Chris said as memory returned.

 

**ONE DAY EARLIER**

“Dude, we are having like ten people over,” Zach said, dragging his feet on the hardwoods so that his flip-flops made little slapping sounds to punctuate each word sarcastically. “How much beer do we _need_?!” He deposited a second case of mixed microbrews on the kitchen island and sighed with the put-upon air of a 15-year old girl being asked to babysit visiting cousins. 

“It’s not a question of need,” Chris said, placing a third one beside it. “It’s about giving people options. Besides, it’s not like it won’t get drunk; we’re going to be here for weeks.” 

“But it’s just the two of us.”

The studio’s housing department had rented the cast some beautiful homes on the North Shore for their stay in Vancouver while filming _Trek XIII_. Zach’s and Chris’s were in the same gated development and were palatial by every definition of the word. Zoë’s, in comparison, was not, and since she was going to have her two children, a nanny, and her mother with her for the duration, Zach had offered to double up with Chris and give her the one that had been rented for him. 

Chris was looking forward to it. It would be fun to come back each night to a house that had someone else in it to talk to—as well as two lovable mutts. The place was larger than Chris’s own home, and practically echoed with his footsteps when he’d arrived the week before. He was happy for the company.

Today they were having an impromptu Memorial Day get-together with those members of the principle cast and senior members of the production who were already in town. Filming was to begin the following Monday, and they had a busy week of final wardrobe fittings, rehearsals, and fight choreography ahead of them. 

“And what are you complaining about?” Chris went on, “I got you some of that peach-flavored shit you like.”

“I will have you know there is a long tradition of fruit-infused brews throughout Belgium,” Zach said haughtily.

“Just keep it away from me. Beer should taste like beer, not Jolly Ranchers.”

Zach made a face. “It doesn’t taste like Jolly Ranchers, you Visigoth.”

“Somehow, I don’t think an actual Visigoth would appreciate it either.”

Chris carried some of the beer out to the deck that had been built off the back of the house. It overlooked three acres of gently sloping woodland that terminated in a dock on a private inlet. The deck was immense, with a built-in pool, a hot tub, an outdoor kitchen, and ample seating for the party that night. He’d been foresighted enough to book a caterer, but had preferred to take care of getting the beer himself. Sometimes he enjoyed shopping.

The caterers soon arrived. Noah and Skunk were beyond excited, and paced back and forth in front of the patio doors as the setup was going on outside. Zach called them off and announced he was going to take a shower.

So Chris was sitting alone in the kitchen, ticking off things on his mental to do list and wishing he’d actually jotted some of them down, when the front doorbell rang. 

“Zoe! Hey! This is a surprise!” He wasn’t expecting to see her until at least 5:00, when cocktails were scheduled to start. Her rental house was just across the road, so he imagined she’d walked over. She was alone.

“Oh my God,” she said almost as soon as he'd opened the door, her voice and manner fraught with emotion. “I came as soon as I heard. How is he? Is he ok? Where is he?” She stalked through the door past Chris and searched the first floor with those quick, little steps of hers. Chris caught up to her in the kitchen, where she looked around in frustration, having not found what—or whom—she was after. 

“Is something wrong?” Chris asked. 

Glancing out the patio doors, she took in the sight of the caterers and looked at Chris as if he'd gone insane. “Don’t tell me you're still having the party after what’s happened?!”

Chris took a breath and counted to five. “What happened? I don't know what you're talking about.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” She grabbed his upper arms and began to shake him; due to the disparity in their relative sizes, it looked like she was doing standing push-ups off him more than anything else. “It’s all over the Internet. Miles! Is getting married!” 

Chris felt himself freeze. He grasped her by her arms too, so they held onto each other in a really awkward way. “ _What?!_ Where did you see that?”

“The Internet! I've got Google alerts set up for all of us, whenever any of our names hit the news feeds. It's how I keep tabs on you losers.”

Chris didn't bother pointing out how creepy that was. “We’ve been out all morning. Zach has no clue!” 

“We have to go tell him.”

Chris looked at her, at her manic concern, and decided it was exactly the wrong kind of energy Zach needed right now. “I appreciate it Zo, but I think he should hear it from me.”

“Are you sure?”

Chris swallowed. Of course he wasn't sure; he hated being the bearer of bad news, but he had no other choice. “Yeah. And thanks for coming over and letting me know. It’s better he should find out from a friend and not Perez Hilton or whatever.” 

“Poor Zach,” Zoë said, her eyes wide with compassion. “I'm going to head home before the twins wake up from their nap, but if you need me, just call ok?”

He thanked her and walked her to the door. 

\----

“Uh huh. Yeah, we totally should. Yep. Mm hmm. OK, then, I'll see you soon. Buh-bye.”

Zach's voice drifted down the hall from his open bedroom door as Chris climbed the stairs. By the time he got to Zach's doorway, he was hanging up his cell phone. He sat on the bed in the same clothes he'd been wearing; apparently whomever had called caught him before he had the time to shower. 

“Zach?” Chris said, his voice tentative. He wondered who might have called Zach. Perhaps his mother, or maybe Moosa, calling to console him over the news? Was Chris off the hook now?

When Zach looked up, his face was a complete blank, and he was staring at a point on the rug about halfway between them. This was not a good sign. 

“Buddy?”

“Miles is getting married,” Zach said in a hollow voice. 

“I heard.”

“That was him just now. On the phone.”

Chris winced as if punched in the gut. “Really?”

“He was just like, ‘Hey how's it going? Happy Memorial Day.’ Like that's a thing people do, call each other on Memorial Day. I said thanks. He asked about the dogs. I said they’re fine. I asked him about fashion week in Paris. He said, ‘I have some news.’” 

Chris shoved his hands in his pockets because he didn't know what to do with them, and leaned against the doorway. 

When Zach looked up at him, his eyes were beginning to droop at the edges. They got like that when he was tired or stressed. “His name's Zane, they met in Paris, he's some fashion designer.”

“Aw, Zach.” 

“No, Zane.” 

Chris bit his lip. 

“You know, the whole conversation unspooled like I was outside my body. I still can't quite believe it.”

Chris felt a little helpless. “What can I do? Tell me what you want me to do.” 

Zach sat there, his hair flopping over his forehead—he'd yet to have it cut into Spock's bowl cut—and looked lost. 

“I'll call everyone and cancel the party,” Chris offered. 

“No. No, I think I need to keep my mind off it.” 

“Are you sure?” The last thing Chris ever wanted when he was miserable was to be around people. His preferred way of coping was to hole up in his bedroom wrapped in a duvet like a human burrito, moaning quietly to himself until he fell asleep or had to pee. Then the tequila came out. 

But Zach was different, he needed distractions to take his mind off what he was going through. Chris wasn't sure how healthy it would be, but in the face of what had happened, he didn't know what else to do. 

As if sensing a disturbance in their master's psyche, the dogs sprang into action to dispense doggy attentions. Skunk jumped onto the bed and plopped the front half of his body in Zach's lap, panting and grinning up at him, and Noah rested his chin and a very large paw on Zach’s knee. He rubbed their ears absently. After a minute, he visibly shuddered, as if deliberately shaking off his current mood. 

“Look at these faces,” Zach said. “How can I be upset when these faces exist?” He leaned his face down so both dogs could lick him. Soon he was smiling at them. Chris marveled at his ability to compartmentalize.

“I think we should go on as planned tonight,” Zach said finally. “It's the first time all of us are together since the table read and it'll be fun. We start filming in a week and who knows when we'll have the chance again?”

Chris agreed, but resolved to keep an eye on Zach anyway. At the first sign he was feeling anything other than happy to be there, he was going to put an early end to the evening. 

\----

Chris began to regret not going with his first instinct almost as soon as the party started. The caring queries, offered by people with heads cocked at a 45-degree angle, began immediately.

_“Have you heard about Miles?”_

_“How’s Zach?”_

_“Have you talked to Zach?”_

_“How is he taking it, the poor guy?”_

_“Are you out of the peach beer already?”_

Chris spent the entire party hovering, trying to keep Zach in sight at all times, monitoring his mood and the conversations he was involved in. Which of his laughs was too shrill, signifying an imminent breakdown? Was that frown the beginnings of the kind of sadness Chris dreaded seeing in him the most, or was he just thinking about what he was going to put on his hamburger? Short of literally attaching himself to the man’s hip, Chris felt exhausted fairly early. 

For his part, Zach behaved as if nothing was wrong, laughing at Simon’s jokes and discussing New York politics with Zoë as if nothing had happened. As the evening wore on, Chris began to relax, deciding if Zach could be so successful at compartmentalizing everything, then he could too. 

It was close to 9:00 when the doorbell rang unexpectedly. Chris wondered who it could be—dinner was long over and all his guests were already there. When he opened the door, he was surprised and delighted to see Zoë’s husband Marco standing there, a double stroller in front of him with the twins seated within.

“Marco! Hey man, what a nice surprise,” Chris said. “I didn't know you were coming up here!”

“I was not supposed to be, but my schedule changed and now I can be with my family for two weeks.”

“Well, come in, come in! I’m sure your wife will be thrilled to see you. All of you.”

Zoë was in the kitchen with Zach, tucked into a wide window seat that overlooked the deck. When she saw her husband, her face lit up and she jumped to her feet. “Baby!” she said, delightedly throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. “When did you get in? I thought you were stuck in LA!”

There followed a family reunion that Chris had seen many times before among his friends in the business with families. They always made Chris happy to see, but when Chris glanced up at Zach, his manner had changed completely. Where minutes ago he was relaxed and smiling, now he watched Zoë dance around with one of her babies, his face completely white. 

“You OK, man?” Chris mouthed to him. 

Zach looked away, and Chris could see a slight tremor around his chin.

“Zach—hey!” Chris said, moving forward with an arm raised; he took Zach around the shoulders and walked him out of there so quickly Zoë and Marco wouldn’t have been able to see his face. “Help me restock the beer, will ya buddy?”

Chris kept his head down and his hand between Zach’s shoulder blades as he maneuvered him toward the house’s dining room, which was dark and empty of guests. “Man, are you OK?”

“I… um… no. I think I have a… a headache suddenly. I think I need to lie down.” 

“I’ll get rid of everyone as soon as I can,” Chris promised.

“No, don’t—they’re having a good time.”

“Things are winding down anyway. I’ll tell them you aren't feeling well.”

Zach walked toward the stairs and then turned back. “Thanks.”

Chris watched Zach go. He seemed suddenly diminished, his shoulders bowed, and Chris wished he could understand why, all of a sudden, but now was not the time to pursue it. His stomach clenched sympathetically.

\----

It took over an hour to get everyone to leave. The entire time, Chris’s mind and attention were upstairs, worrying about how Zach was. The kitchen and outside areas remained a bit of a mess, but Chris would take care of it in the morning. 

When he went to Zach’s room, the door was ajar, and he could feel a cool breeze blowing through it. When he pushed it open, he guessed that Zach had gone out to sit on the balcony and left the door open. Chris shivered in the cool Canadian air; it may be nearly summer, but to a California boy, this was as cold as winter got, and he wished he’d worn socks. 

He wandered across the room toward the terrace door; Zach was seated on a wicker couch, Skunk curled up beside him, and Noah lying on his feet. When the big dog saw Chris, he lumbered over, nosing at Chris’s hand until he pet him. 

“Everyone’s gone,” Chris announced.

“They all knew, didn't they?”

“Yeah. Well, except for Justin, but he barely knows any of us yet.” 

Zach nodded his understanding before Chris was done speaking, like Zach was going through the motions of a conversation. He probably felt numb all over; Chris would have. “You want me to leave?”

“No.”

Chris sat on the couch sideways, facing Zach, who stared out into space, his face pale against the darkness. An owl hooted somewhere, which would have been cool except for the abject misery Chris felt pouring off his friend. 

“Seeing Zoë and Marco together, and with their kids, reminded me of what I don’t have. I’ll never have a real family.”

“There’s still plenty of time for that.”

He shook his head and lifted a bare foot to rest on the edge of the seat. “Why wasn’t I good enough?” He worried at a small hole in his jeans, picking at the frayed threads.

“What are you talking about? You’re good enough for anyone.”

“Not for Miles.”

“Zach—“

“Zane’s good enough for Miles.”

“Can we not? Do this?”

“Zane, who he met like a month ago. He’s supposed to be Mister Right Now, not Mister Right.”

“Come on, man.”

“All this time…” he swallowed. “All the time we were together, when the topic of marriage came up, he’d just say, ‘No, it’s for not us. It’s a twisted, antiquated business arrangement cooked up by the patriarchy to subjugate women and… and justify an unequal power exchange. It’s not for us, it’s for straights.’ But the whole time…” he sniffled. “The whole time, he was lying to me.” He turned his stricken face toward Chris, his eyes filled with tears. He had not yet cried, not all day, not before this. “All this time he said he didn't want to get married, but the truth was he just didn't want to marry me.” 

“Do you want to marry him?”

“No!”

Chris leaned forward. “Then stop quoting _When Harry Met Sally_ and tell me what’s really wrong.”

“I loved him and he didn't love me back,” he said as the tears fell, his tightening throat elongating his syllables. “And it’s because I… I’m broken and… unlovable. Unworthy… of anyone.”

“That’s not true.”

“You don’t know, Chris,” Zach whispered. He bit his lip, choked on his next words, “But I do.”

Chris moved closer to him, arms outstretched. “It’s not,” he said, pulling Zach close as Skunk jumped off the couch to get out of the way. Chris cradled Zach’s head against his chest and held on tightly. “It’s not true, not at all.”

Zach was weeping now, big, wracking sobs that shook them both. Chris didn't know what to do other than hold him closer. He felt utterly helpless, like he had when his grandmother had died and nothing and no one could comfort his mother. He’d been in his early 20s and no one close to him had died before, not within his memory. The helplessness he felt seeing Zach’s suffering was just like that—physically painful to him, making his gut twist and his chest hurt. He took a deep breath and held on as tightly as he could. He was sure it hurt, but he felt Zach relax against him anyway, his hands twisting the front of Chris’s sweater as he held on.

Eventually Zach quieted. Chris realized he’d been petting his hair for the last several minutes at least. Zach took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out, then another. He pulled away, and caught sight of the drenched, wrinkled mess he’d made of Chris’s sweater. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I have two more,” Chris assured him, and pulled him close again. This time, Zach’s body shook with laughter as he chuckled; he was a warm weight against Chris, and it was nice given the chill out on the terrace. 

A minute later, Zach stirred again, his face brushing across Chris’s collar bone. “Thank you,” he whispered, his breath light against Chris’s throat. He moved closer, to kiss Chris on the cheek. 

“That’s what friends are for,” Chris said in the same moment, turning his head as he said it. Their lips brushed accidentally, and they both froze. 

There was a space of time that held, tenuous, like a stretched-too-thin rubber band. It lasted possibly a second, but Chris could feel the weight of it. It had the feeling of something fleeting, yet pregnant with potentiality. He felt like he was standing on a precipice, one too high to climb again once the choice was made to leap. But Zach was warm and alive beside him, and he needed Chris, needed him in a way Chris hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Chris liked the way that made him feel.

Closing his eyes, he stepped over the edge, felt the sickening-thrilling drop in his belly as he raised his head that fraction of an inch to close the space between them. And then they were kissing.

Time went back to its original configuration, and Zach was kissing him back, his fists once more grasping at Chris’s sweater, but this time with a wholly different intent. Zach made high, needful sounds that stirred something in Chris, something primal and protective, and made him want to hold Zach closer, hold him forever. 

“Make love to me,” Zach begged minutes later, his body straining against Chris’s. 

“What?” Chris asked, kiss-drunk. He blinked up at Zach, mouth hanging open, not sure what he’d said.

“Make love to me? I know you have a rule, but—“

They were the last words spoken, because Chris couldn’t stand for them to be said. Saying them meant coming to his senses, and he couldn’t—he didn’t want to. He pulled Zach in for another kiss. A minute later, Zach was standing, and he was pulling Chris up with him. This time, there was no stretched-out moment of indecision; this time Chris jumped without hesitation.

\----

Zach’s hands were everywhere in their frenzied rush to get to the bed. It was a good thing because Chris had forgotten how this was supposed to go. 

The backs of his knees bumped up against the edge of the bed. Then Chris was lying back on the thick duvet, shirt off and frantically shoving his pants off his hips, his dick bouncing comically against him. Before he could say or do anything more, Zach was naked too, and on top of him.

As Chris’s past couplings went, there were certainly better examples, and more romantic ones. And more comfortable ones. But none of them could match this one for passion. Or expediency. Zach apparently approached kissing as he approached nearly everything in his life: with single-mindedness and dedication. Chris’s head was practically buzzing when Zach pulled away to fish a bottle of lube and a rubber out of the nightstand. 

Chris caught his wrist to pull him back, wanting his closeness, but Zach shook his head as he straddled Chris’s hips. He tossed the condom at Chris’s chest, where it landed with a soft _thwack_ , then squirted a generous amount of lube on his fingers and reached behind, to work himself open. Chris had barely gotten the condom on before Zach was leaning over him, one hand resting beside Chris’s head. He felt Zach’s other hand on him, felt him move to position himself. 

Chris sucked in a breath as Zach lowered himself with near-agonizing slowness onto his dick. He was so tight, and the pressure… it took all Chris’s concentration not to blow immediately. It didn’t stop him from whining though. Zach moved closer to kiss him, cutting the sound off. They stayed that way for long minutes, as Zach’s body adjusted to Chris’s girth. Chris was concerned Zach hadn’t prepped himself enough, and if the redness in Zach’s face was an indication, this was true. But he seemed not to care or else was able to ignore what had to be a lot of discomfort.

Eventually, Zach bottomed out. He pushed up and away from Chris, straightening his back and taking deep breaths, in and out. Chris recognized the yogic breathing for what it was, and was soon matching Zach breath for breath. He didn’t want to hurt Zach, but it had been a long time—actual, literal years—and the combination of sensations was nearly overwhelming. Chris needed to focus himself or this would be over before it got really good. So he kept pace with the deep breathing and focused instead on Zach’s body and what he was doing, rather than the urge to thrust mindlessly.

Zach held himself taut and upright, head thrown back and eyes closed. When he swallowed, Chris could see his throat working. When he breathed, his abdominals flexed and relaxed. He was beautiful like this, face serene despite what they were doing, his arms held to the side and his thighs straining to maintain the position. Chris reached for him, rested his hands lightly on his thighs, to soothe. Zach relaxed, rested his hands atop Chris’s and squeezed. That bit of acknowledgement made this more than just two people fucking, Chris thought, it made it a connection.

Eventually, Zach got more comfortable with Chris inside him, and he moved, leaning forward so he could rest his hands on Chris’s chest, relieve the strain on his thighs. He levered himself up and then down again on Chris’s dick. Eyes still closed in concentration, he gasped as he took Chris even deeper. 

Chris raised his knees, eager to have more leverage to finally thrust. Zach was still tight around him, but his body had begun to yield. Zach leaned forward at the movement, making more room for Chris to thrust. His face was inches from Chris’s when he finally opened his eyes. He looked at Chris as if surprised to find him there. He gasped again, eyes widening as he reacted to one of Chris’s thrusts, and slid a hand beneath the nape of Chris’s neck, pulling him closer for another kiss. Kisses were good for forgetting it was _them_ who were actually doing this—kisses made the buzzing in Chris’s ears louder. 

Zach’s body moved in time to Chris’s thrusts whether they quickened or slowed, hands eventually moving to Chris’s shoulders to anchor himself. Chris reached for Zach’s dick and he pulled away, their eyes locking. There was the hint of a smile on his lips, and the sounds he made, so intimate, so desirous, he made them for Chris. He made them _because_ of Chris.

Something twisted inside Chris’s chest then, a yearning for something he didn’t quite understand, or maybe he preferred not to acknowledge. It was like a physical pull at something deep within him, like vertigo without the dizziness. He was so close to coming, maybe that was it. If he ignored it, maybe he’d forget. More kissing—that would help. He craned his neck up to attempt one; Zach bit his lip instead.

Chris cried out in surprise and then came. Too soon, he was sure, but he’d decide whether or not to be embarrassed about it later. Zach rode him through it, hips grinding down as Chris pulsed inside him. Then Zach took his own dick in hand, jacking it with short, hard movements, his thumb pressed down hard on the head. He came on Chris’s chest and belly, his asshole clenching as he did. Chris whimpered at the added pressure on his oversensitive dick; he could feel his toes curl as his back arched off the bed.

Zach pulled off him with a triumphant look and stretched himself down beside Chris. They panted together like landed fish for a few minutes, and then Chris got up to grab a wad of tissues from the box on the nightstand to clean himself off; he removed the condom and tied it off, and left it in another mound of clean tissues. He then lay back down beside Zach.

Still they did not speak. They lay beside each other, on their backs, only their elbows touching, until the coolness of the Canadian night air made Chris shiver. They climbed under the covers, and Zach nudged at Chris until he’d rearranged himself to Zach’s liking. Chris fell asleep with the smell of sex in his nostrils, and the warm, reassuring weight of Zach’s legs entwined with his.

\----

The next morning, the impact of what had happened descended on Chris with all the subtlety of a loud fart in church. 

“Aw fuck!”

Beside him, Zach stirred, reflexively pulling Chris closer until, apparently, he realized who he was in bed with. He rolled off Chris, taking the covers with him, and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling for several seconds. 

“So that happened,” Chris said to fill the silence. 

Zach turned his head and they looked at each other. “Are you freaking out?”

“I don’t know. No?”

“That sounds really definitive.”

“Are you?”

Zach looked up at the ceiling again, as if considering. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I think my track record with holidays is pretty well-known to you by now.”

“Oh.”

“I was doing so well.”

Chris decided not to point out the fact he’d been weeping like a baby the night before. _How could Zach be this OK already?_ He supposed the word ‘well’ was a relative one.

Zach was silent a few more moments, then said, “I suppose I can look at it this way, if I was going to make this mistake again, at least it was with someone I know and not some random hot guy in a bar.”

That hurt more than it ought to, given who was saying it. “Well there you go,” Chris said in as neutral a tone as he could muster.

Zach sat up, and the duvet fell away from his body; he was unconcerned with his nakedness. “I mean, it was still a bad idea, but no harm was done.” He moved as if to get out of the bed, and winced. “Well, almost no harm. Damn, you were a bit more than I’m used to.” The frown on his face was chased away with a winning smile.

Chris thought he was supposed to have been flattered by that. “Good thing you’re not riding a horse, then.”

“Ha-ha, yeah.” Zach stretched himself back down on the bed again, on his side with his head propped up on his hand. A momentary look of tenderness crossed his features and his eyes warmed up. “I won’t forget what you did for me last night, Chris. I know how you feel about sex and relationships, but I really needed someone, and you were there for me. It means a lot. ”

Chris found it hard to look him in the eyes, but he did anyway. “Happy to oblige,” he said and even managed not to wince at the triteness of his words. They had just made love, not shared an Uber from the airport.

Zach smiled and got out of bed. “I have to take the dogs out, but when I get back, we’ll go to breakfast, OK?”

“Sure.”

Chris watched dumbly as Zach dressed himself and called for the dogs, staring at the doorway for long moments after he had gone. He had that feeling in his stomach again, that sinking-tugging feeling he couldn’t find the right name for. He’d always had an affinity for the man, it had to be why they’d been friends for so many years, but this was different. This was changed now, somehow. Zach’s absence from him filled him with a kind of mild dread. This was not normal for their friendship, it was not how things went.

He heard Zach gather up the dogs to take them for a walk, heard the front door alarm chime as it opened, then again as it closed, heard the crunch of Zach’s sneakers on the gravel beneath the windows. He’d be back, of course, but things wouldn’t be the same—not the same as last night. Not the same as the reassuring feeling that someone needed you, and you could need them too.

Chris sat up abruptly as, with sudden clarity, he realized he _could_ name the feelings tugging at his guts, making him uncomfortable, and worrying his mind.

“Oh no,” he said, covering his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’m fucking _in love_ with him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all again on July 5


	9. July 5, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris lives up to his surname.

“Hello?”

“There you are. God I've been trying to reach you since yesterday. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you've been avoiding my calls.”

Chris ducked his head as if Zach could see him. “What? Don't be silly. I was doing, you know, family stuff?”

“How was Luca's birthday party?”

Chris paused, momentarily surprised Zach was asking. "It was, uh, good. He really liked the Lego thing you got him. It was the hit of the party, actually. He practically abandoned opening all his other presents so he could put the thing together.” 

Zach chuckled. “Really? That's cool. I loved Legos when I was a kid too.” 

“Yeah?” Chris tried to imagine wee Zach, complete with tragic bowl cut, puzzling over a pile of Legos, and felt a pang. 

“Yeah. Too bad you couldn't've been up here.”

Chris sighed. The production had shut down for a week so the American members of the cast and crew could spend the holiday at home. “You're not going to give me a hard time about leaving you alone on July 4th again are you? It's not even a holiday up there.”

”No,” Zach said, voice low, “not that. Anyway, Joe and the fam are here. It's ample distraction.”

“Oh. Good then. You're doing ok then?”

“Yep. We had sushi yesterday. _So much better_ than a barbecue.”

“There you go.”

They breathed at each other for a few more seconds. “Well, I'll let you go, then,” Chris said, and winced at the triteness. A more perfunctory conversation-ender was never before uttered.

“Yep. Yep. See you next Sunday? When you fly back?”

“You bet. So long then.” He hung up before Zach could say anything more. Groaning, he dropped back onto the bed, his phone bouncing out of his hand to come to a rest somewhere over by the pillows. 

“Well that wasn't awkward, like, at all,” he said out loud and scrubbed a hand over his face. 

Life since realizing he had feelings for Zach had been, if not exactly torture, then some close cousin. Like: distress. That was a good word for it. Lots and lots of distress. 

The day of his revelation, he was able to survive it pretty well. It was probably shock or something, but as their day went on and he saw no sign Zach had either figured it out or had any kind of reciprocal feelings, Chris was actually relieved. Things were going to be awkward enough after having slept together. But as day eased into night, and they shared beers and party leftovers around the fire pit built into the deck, the reflection of the firelight on Zach’s face made Chris’s heart skip a few beats, and the way his sweater clung to his broad shoulders was more than distracting. Chris spent a sleepless night imagining what would happen if Zach knew, alternating between tearful declarations of mutual love and affection and Zach being so angry, he’d never speak to Chris again.

Shooting started the following week, and he soon had more to focus on, such as the impossibly accelerated schedule. Justin's insistence they work lean and mean, often going with first takes, was at first off-putting after JJ's perfectionism, but the mood on set soon took on that of an independent film, and Chris found he quite liked the seat-of-their-pants feel of it.

But those distractions eventually proved to be insufficient, and each scene he shared with Zach was a special brand of torture. He constantly second-guessed himself—would he have leaned back against Zach between takes before? Were they the kind of friends who bumped shoulders? Suddenly every touch, gesture, and conversation was fraught with extra meaning, and he was petrified each one telegraphed his true feelings in some way. He wound up subjecting himself to an entirely new kind of self-scrutiny, editing nearly everything he said to avoid betraying his feelings, and never making eye contact.

He was pretty sure Zach had noticed.

“Man, what the fuck is up with you lately?” he asked one afternoon when they were hanging upside down from a tree in a nearby park between takes. Apparently, the majestic woods of British Columbia could double for an exotic planet if you spray painted them with enough blue paint. 

“This harness is giving me the wedgie of the century. I wish I’d used more baby powder today.”

“Try cornstarch.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. That’s not what I was talking about, though.”

Chris fixed his eyes on the ground and crossed his hands in front of him, feigning a nonchalance he had not felt in weeks. “It wasn’t?”

“I dunno, you seem really distant. Not yourself.”

“Well, you know…”

“What do I know?” Zach asked after a solid minute during which the two of them swayed back and forth gently and Chris said nothing. 

“This fucking harness, man.”

Luckily, one of the makeup artists showed up to do touch-ups on the Spock ears and the conversation shifted to more technical matters.

After that, Chris avoided conversation with Zach whenever possible, keeping to himself between takes when he could. Usually he’d have been right in there with the group of them, talking and laughing, but hanging out with Zach was too stressful—either he was miserable because he was convinced Zach would find out, or else he was gutted that Zach hadn’t. 

It seemed impossible that Zach should not know, and yet he clearly did not. This irked Chris on a certain level. If he did, he'd surely have said something—there was no way Zach would have let something like that lie. And shouldn’t he have been sensitive enough to have noticed Chris’s misery? 

So Chris stayed in a prison of his own making, simultaneously craving Zach’s company while eschewing it, wanting Zach never to know and yet angered that he didn’t. He was a mess. 

It cost him. He found himself uninterested in food most days, forcing himself to eat only when his blood sugar bottomed out or before a particularly physical scene. The wardrobe people noticed, and kept complaining about having to take his pants in—they were tight enough, lord knew he didn’t mind a bit of extra room. And though he forced himself to stay away physically, he couldn’t divorce himself completely from Zach. He found himself looking for Zach no matter how far away he went, constantly watching, plotting the man’s moods on some imaginary graph. Was Zach happy and laughing? Probably because he had found someone to crush on—Idris’s stunt double was seriously hot and had been flirting with everyone. Was Zach sad? Probably thinking about Miles, whose appearances in the tabloids with his new fiancé had increased exponentially. Did Zach seem pissed off? Probably something Chris said or did.

It was getting to be ri-goddamn-diculous. 

_KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK_

“Room service, Mr. Pine.”

Chris sat up abruptly; he’d forgotten he’d ordered an early dinner. “Hey, Reggie,” he greeted the young man at the door. Chris had taken to requesting he be the one to bring him his meals the last few days, if the kid was on shift. He had an open and pleasant face, and he was working this job at night so he could attend college during the day. 

“The usual place?” Reggie asked as he wheeled the cart in.

“Yeah.”

Chris followed Reggie over to the table near the balcony and waited patiently as he set the dishes out, placing the silverware, napkin, the bottle of wine and glass, ice water, salad. He removed the cloche from Chris’s dinner plate with a flourish and asked if he wanted freshly cracked pepper on his salad.

“Not today, Reg,” Chris answered. 

“Should I come back in about thirty for the dishes?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Reggie smiled and headed for the door, Chris following close behind. He handed the young man a fifty before signing for the order. “Oh, I almost forgot!” He pulled a worn paperback out of his back pocket and handed it to Chris. “I finished it last night.” 

“How’d you like it?” Chris asked, looking down at his copy of _The Stories of John Cheever_ , a longtime favorite. 

“ _The Swimmer_ , man.” Chris smiled as Reggie shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll get over that ending for a while.”

“Yeah, it screwed my head up the first time I read it too,” Chris said. 

“The language—man, I didn’t think people could write like that!”

Chris smiled despite his down mood; it was refreshing to talk with someone who enjoyed reading as much as he did. “Maybe we could talk about it some more—later, when you come back for the tray.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you’re a busy movie star and all.”

“Not so much at the moment. Besides, it’s been a while since I had anyone to discuss literature with—you’d be doing me a favor, really.”

“Well, then, it’s all a part of the service we offer here at the Four Seasons Vancouver, Mr. Pine.” With a smile, he was gone, leaving Chris to eat his dinner alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all on September 8!


	10. August 26, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris has a not-so-happy birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter for Chris Pine’s birthday. Sorry this doesn’t really advance the plot all that much, it’s just more pining!Pine. And drunk!Zach, which is always fun.

“Buddy! Buddybuddybuddy!! Buddaaaaay!”

Zach’s breath was a mix of honey whiskey and that fucking peach beer and _what kind of degenerate chased one with the other?!_ Sober as he was, Chris wanted to hurl. 

Zach's arm was beginning to feel too heavy around Chris's neck, his fingers where he clung to Chris’s shoulder were gouging. Chris flexed his shoulders and Zach's grip eased, but he did not let go. 

“It's your birthdaaaay!”

“It is indeed.” 

“Happy birthday!” Zach shouted happily, and planted a very wet kiss on Chris's ear. 

“Thank you.” 

“D'ja like my present?” he said, punctuating his words with good natured squeezes. “Didja? Didja? Didja?”

“Ow, Zach, come on that hurts!” Chris said, finally dislodging him. 

Zach appeared appropriately chastened—for all of ten seconds. “Didja?”

Of course he did; the Datograph was unspeakably beautiful, black and sleek, sheer perfection. But it felt like an anchor on his wrist, reminding him who it came from with every smooth, diamond movement, and that its existence meant nothing more than the fact Zach's black card got a regular workout. 

“I love it.” 

Zach reached out and grasped Chris's hand, which had been lying in his lap balled up in a fist. “That makes me so happy. I got it cuz I love you, man.”

Chris smiled and wished he could pretend Zach meant that in another way. “Deep bros, huh?”

“The deepest.” Zach got up, anointed Chris's forehead with another sticky kiss, and headed off for the bar. 

\----

“Hey, I know it's your party and you'll cry if you want to, but damn son, you're bringing the whole joint down.”

Chris glanced up to see Zoe perched suddenly on the barstool beside him. This was the first time Chris’s birthday had rolled around during filming, and like with any other member of the cast or crew, it could not pass uncelebrated. There had been a cake on-set followed by a sit-down dinner at one of the swankiest Italian restaurants Chris had been to outside of Rome. They had rented the entire place for the night, and there had even been a custom-made drink for the occasion, a “Pine-Apple-tini” which involved too many ingredients for Chris to name and had tasted like ass. 

“'Joint'?” he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

“What? It's a word. It’s a thing. It’s a word-thing.”

“Yeah, just not the kind of word thing I'm used to hearing come out of your mouth. Or are you a real hipster now?”

“The hippiest.” She smiled her usual, charming and infectious, and Chris was forced to return it. “But seriously what's wrong? You're so quiet tonight.” He shrugged. “Did you not have a nice birthday?”

“I did. Thank you for planning it and everything. I know you don't have a lot of time for that kind of thing with two babies and a movie to shoot.” 

“Don't look at me, I just recommended the place. Zach did everything else—he designed the menu and everything.”

“Really?”

“Said he owed you for something.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly, looking for an explanation he couldn't give her. 

“He doesn't.”

She ran a fingertip around the rim of her wine glass as she spoke. “That's not how he tells it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to parse what she was saying. Was there a gleam in her eye? Did she know something? He could never tell with her. “I can’t fucking believe he told you we made love.”

The moment he said it, he knew he’d miscalculated. Zoe's mouth opened wide, shock apparent on her face.

Chris could feel his face go crimson. “Aw, fuuuck.” He covered his face with his hands. “Can you forget I said that just now?”

“No. Not for ever and ever.”

“Zoë, please.” 

“I can't _believe_ you let him tap that ass, Pine. Or wait, were you the tap _per_?” He gave her a look. “Really? Oh my god, not how I pictured it. I owe Pegg a hundy.”

“Please. Stop. Talking. And what do you mean you owe Simon money?”

“Forget about it. Seriously, congratulations we've all been wondering when the two of you would finally hook up. I mean, it’s been so obvious over the years.”

“There is no 'each other,'” Chris said bitterly. He looked down at his hand, continuing to shred his cuticles as he had been doing all night. “We aren't together. We aren't anything. He said it was a mistake after. A bad idea. And then he went on like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.”

She jumped off her stool and went to him, slid her hand over his to stop him before he drew blood. He couldn’t look at her. “Don’t say that. You’re the farthest thing from ‘nothing’ to him. You’re his best friend.”

“I don’t know if that’s enough anymore. I’m in love with him.”

She slid her arms around his shoulders and pulled him forward, until he was resting his forehead on her shoulder. It was an awkward position to be in, but strangely comforting as she murmured into his ear, “You gonna tell him?”

“I can’t. Not now.”

“Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He’ll shut me out. I’ll never see him again.”

“And in the meantime, you’re miserable? That’s not exactly a good deal for you, Chris.”

“So now you understand my problem. But I have to get over it.”

“You sure you can?”

He sat back and shook his head; he didn't know the answer.

\----

“Neh-neh-neh-neh-neh-neh YOU SAY IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY?” Zach beat a steady drum beat onto the dashboard of his own car. “Neh-neh-neh-neh-neh-neh IT’S MY BIRTHDAY TOO, YEAH!”

“It’s not my birthday,” Chris pointed out; all this attention was making him tired. “Not anymore.” He applied the brakes as the traffic light ahead turned to yellow and brought the car to a slow stop. They were on their way back to the house they’d been sharing during the shoot. One more night of this, Chris thought, and he’d go back to LA and Zach to New York. Chris could try to wrest some sort of normalcy back into his life.

“Did you have a good time?” Zach asked. 

“Sure.”

“The burrata was house-made, did you get any? I know how much you like that stuff.”

“It was delicious, thank you for planning the party for me. It means… um…” he let his voice trail off. Had it meant anything? Of course it had, though he wanted it to mean something more. Something different. “A lot.”

Zach reached out and rested his hand on Chris’s where it sat atop the gear shift. “You doing OK? You’ve been so, I dunno, quiet lately.”

Chris stared at their joined hands. “Don’t worry about me. How about you—how are you?”

“No need to worry about me, I’m drunk!” He lolled back against the car door and smiled at Chris sleepily. 

The light changed and Chris started driving again, the shifting of gears dislodging Zach’s hand. He let it lie where it fell, in the no man’s land between the seat and the gear box. “I feel like I never see you anymore,” Zach said quietly.

“We live in the same house.” 

“I miss you.”

“We live _in the same house_. What are you talking about?” Chris felt his face warm, and he couldn’t look at Zach. He hadn't thought Zach had picked up on the fact he’d been avoiding him. Or perhaps more accurately, he had hoped Zach had not. Zach was intelligent and intuitive, of course he had. Chris looked over at him; his eyes were like pools of something dark and warm and Chris wanted to drown himself in them.

“Did I do something to make you not trust me?”

There it was, Chris's opportunity to say exactly what he’d been dreading for the last three months. This could be that tipping point, and here was Zach all sleepy and half drunk in the passenger seat, making it easier. 

“No, why would you say something like that? Damn it.” Another light, another pause in this never-ending drive back to the house. He hit the brakes, slid the car into neutral.

“We never used to have secrets.”

Chris immediately thought of a hundred secrets they’d kept from each other, but in that moment he knew he was busted. He looked over at the man he loved, his best friend, the one he’d been lying to for months. The moment stretched on for way too long. He had to say something. “Zach—“

“You’re taking the Green Lantern gig too, aren’t you?” Zach interrupted.

“ _What_?!”

“I can’t believe it—what the hell are you doing anyway?”

“I dunno, um…”

“What happened to doing small projects that mean something to us? What happened to one for us, one for them?”

Chris looked at him, mouth hanging open and blinking like an idiot. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re starting to look like a sell-out, Chris. Comic book movies? Seriously?”

Chris was more than a little annoyed by Zach’s tone. “Video game movies, Zachary? Seriously?” 

“I’ll have you know Agent 47 is a well-respected franchise with, uh, nuances of character and, uh, world-building and…” he dissolved into giggles. “Sorry, that was just… hoo!” He paused to laugh heartily. 

“You’re such a prick, Quinto.”

“Sorry. But seriously, I asked Zoë what was up with you lately, and she said she thought you were taking the Green Lantern movie in addition to Wonder Woman? Don’t spread yourself too thin, buddy, you know how you get. I worry about you.”

Chris wondered why Zoë would manufacture such a lie, but if it was because she had his back, he was grateful. It also meant Zach _had_ noticed his being withdrawn around him, and meant that Chris needed to be more careful. “I’m only thinking about it. I haven’t made a firm commitment,” he lied. He had no intention of taking it, the script treatment they’d shown him was crap.

Zach settled back into his seat. “OK then, good.”

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all on September 8!


	11. September 8, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filming of Star Trek Beyond wraps and Chris can't wait to go home and get over Zach. Unfortunately, something forces his hand.

Chris sat forward in the Captain’s chair, acutely aware of the camera dollying in. He knew full well the type of dramatic shot Justin was going for. He waited a beat and then narrowed his eyes, flared his nostrils before delivering his next line. “Commander Annan, if you do not stand down immediately, Starfleet will have no other alternative but to consider this an act of war!”

Idris, standing off camera while they filmed Chris's portion of the scene—he’d done this scene on green screen over a week ago—responded, “Nothing would pain me more, Kirk, but we both have our duties to perform.” 

“Goddamn it, man, consider future generations!” 

“Do you think I have not? Then you have learned nothing, Jim.”

Chris closed his eyes, let a little bit of pain show in his face. Idris’s character and Kirk had a long history, had survived hell together; this scene was a pivotal emotional moment where Kirk was going to have to choose duty over emotion. “Mr. Chekov, raise shields,” he ordered.

“Aye, sir,” Anton, seated in front of Chris on the Enterprise bridge set, said gravely. 

Chris opened his eyes, gritted his teeth. “Don't make me do this, Esam old friend.” 

“That is the refrain of oppressors and abusers since time began, _old friend_ ,” Idris replied, his voice defiant. 

Chris took a deep breath and allowed his shoulders to relax for a moment. Commander Annan, one of Kirk’s oldest friends, was making a decision that would affect the fate of an entire planet. The impact was not lost on Jim, nor was it something Chris wanted to trivialize in his performance. The tears that filled his eyes were there because he allowed his emotions to flow through him. He straightened in the chair, resigned. “Arm photon torpedoes,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion. 

He could sense movement behind him. Zach turned in his chair at the science station, right on cue, and stared with stoic Vulcan compassion at the back of Chris's head. Zoë gasped but said nothing. 

“Aye, sir,” Anton said, miming working controls that would be laid in using CGI in post-production. 

Chris paused, knowing they'd want to edit around this. He licked his lips, opened his mouth. He blinked. A tear fell. “Fire.” 

There was an oppressive silence on set as Anton pressed an imaginary button, and then…

“Cut! Print! That was just perfect, Chris, perfect!” 

Justin jumped out of his chair, ever present clipboard in his hands. “Well done! That is a wrap for Mr. Chris Pine and for _Star Trek Beyond_.” He slung the clipboard under his arm and began to applaud, as did the entire crew. 

Chris let the breath he'd been holding out through pursed lips and shook his head, slowly relaxing the muscles in his frame he’d been holding so tense throughout the scene. It had been a long afternoon, with take after take of the emotionally fraught scene. Around him, actors and techs alike joined in on the mutual congratulations—it had been a long shoot, and they were finally done. 

He rose and got wearily down from the small dais onto which the Captain’s chair was bolted. He felt too keyed-up inside, heart racing in his chest, to join in the collective congratulatory and festive mood. The scene was over, he ought to be able to disengage, but something was preventing him. He needed to get away for a few minutes, away from the hubbub all around him. He headed off in the direction of the soundstage’s exit. 

A second later, Justin was in front of him, headphones around his neck and a huge grin on his face, blocking Chris’s path. “That was amazing, Chris. I'm so happy I got to work with you, man.” He held his hand out and Chris clasped it, stiffening a little when the director pulled him into a companionable bro-hug. 

“Thanks.” 

“Can I just say, Chris, yours has been the performance to beat in this thing,” Justin prattled on. He was always amazingly complimentary, and normally Chris would be basking in it like a cat in a sunbeam, but he felt a jumpiness under his skin and he wanted nothing more than to get out of there. Chris smiled thinly, not wanting to be insulting, but he barely processed what was being said. 

“There they are,” a warm voice said and suddenly Zach was there, approaching with hands spread wide. 

“Heeey,” Justin said with a grin and gave Zach an enthusiastic bro-hug with a side of back-slapping. “Excellent performances all the way around,” the director said. “I'm so blessed, you guys.”

“I don't know how blessed you're gonna feel after I tell you that Marnie wants to have a word.” Their script supervisor Marnie ruled the set with an iron fist. Justin looked understandably alarmed as he rushed off. 

“What's wrong now?” Chris asked uneasily. If Marnie had an issue, it could mean they might have to do another take. 

“Nothing, you just looked like you need to get out of here, and it was the first thing I thought of.”

Chris nodded. 

Zach stepped closer. “Are you OK man? That was some pretty heavy stuff you just had to do. I remember how you were after that scene in _Into Darkness_.” 

He was right. After spending three days pretending to die on the last Trek film, Chris had needed a while to get his head back on straight. He didn't think this scene had taken quite so large a toll, but maybe it had. Maybe it explained this strange, amorphous anxiety he was feeling. The fact Zach recognized it meant a lot, though it didn't do much to alleviate his present mood. 

“Yeah, thanks,” he managed to choke out. Zach laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Chris felt himself lean into it, longed to feel comforting arms around him. He had no doubts Zach would oblige, but he didn't want to buy Zach's attention so cheaply. Not trusting himself to say anything else, he walked out, leaving Zach gaping after him.

Chris made a beeline toward the exit, intent on reporting to makeup ahead of his fellow actors. He had a load of latex appliances on his face that comprised the injuries Kirk had sustained over the course of the film, and he wanted them off ASAP. It was the last hurdle to jump before he could go to his dressing room and decompress on his own, process what he was feeling in the calm and relative solitude he could find behind a closed door. 

He made it down there with only a few interruptions, well-meaning crew giving him backslaps and good-natured hugs. When he arrived, his favorite makeup artist, Tamika, greeted him at the door. She was about his age, and always had a ready joke or bit of trivia to offer up, which made the hours the actors sometimes had to spend in her chair go so much faster. No one else was there when he arrived, which made him feel marginally better. 

“Congratulations, sir, I’m told you knocked it out of the park this afternoon.”

He gave her a thin smile. “We’ll see how it looks up on screen.”

“This modesty, it’s what I like best about you,” she said. She patted the top of her chair. “Have a seat, let’s see if we can’t get you out of here quickly, huh?”

Chris nodded and sat. Tamika was fast and efficient about her work, as always, and he soon felt the relief that came whenever the appliances were finally removed. He didn't know how Zach or the guys who dressed up as Klingons managed to remain so sanguine about this part of the job—Chris hated it, and it didn't help that the adhesives almost always made him break out. 

“There we go, there’s that pretty face,” Tamika said as she lightly drew a sponge with some clarifying lotion over his cheeks; he enjoyed the coolness for a moment before he had to go.

“Hey, you seem a little tense, do you want a massage?” Tamika offered. She had been a massage therapist before coming to work at the studio, and often treated the actors to a little of it at the end of a long day. 

“I don’t want to impose,” Chris said.

“It’s no problem, and besides, it’s not like anyone’s clamoring for my services down here or anything.

Chris shrugged and sat up in the chair, not wanting to appear too eager, but really—Tamika gave the literal best massages he’d ever gotten.

“All right, then,” she said, moving behind him. She placed a hand on the back of his neck, moving him a bit forward so she could get her hands on him. “Man alive, you are all gnarled up! Like an old tree trunk or something.”

Chris groaned the moment her fingers dug into the meat of his shoulder. 

“That's the spot,” she said, working at it for several moments before it finally gave way. He wasn't sure if the relief he felt was from the now pliant muscle or the fact she was no longer kneading and pressing at it. She moved on to his trapezius, and the sound he made was nearly obscene and definitely embarrassing.

Chris drew a shuddering breath. 

“It’s OK, you know,” she said to him quietly, “to let the negative emotions go. Massage relieves more than just pain and stiffness, there’s a lot it can do for stress.”

“Really?” Chris asked, the mere suggestion of it bringing emotions still raw from his last scene to the fore. He knew the emotions he'd had to keep on the surface to fuel his performance were only messing up his head, but part of him felt like he'd held onto a sensation of persistent misery for way too long now. Had it really only been three months since he realized he loved Zach and that his feelings were not returned? 

“Oh yeah. I had this client once who used to cry every week. Said my massages gave him a better outlet than his shrink ever did.”

“That’s… interesting,” Chris said, his voice higher than usual as tears began flowing all of a sudden. He gulped in air and it was like he couldn't get enough. He tried to hold it in, but his throat hurt and he moaned, like he hadn't done since… he couldn't remember when. Since Dom left, probably. Since his grandfather died when he was 14. “Jesus, look at me,” he said, sniveling as he wiped the tears away with his fingertips.

“If it helps, I give you permission,” she said quietly, putting an arm around his shoulders and squeezing. “Sometimes people need that.”

“Okaaaaaaaaayyy!” he wailed, unable control himself. 

“That's it, let it out,” Tamika said, moving her hand to his scalp and rubbing gently as he sniveled and moaned. “You let it go, you let all the bad stuff go, Chris. Let it go where it won’t bother you anymore.” She spoke in a kind of baby-talk way he thought might sound condescending in any other context but he found it strangely comforting.

When it was over, he felt drained, but the weight on his chest and the itchy tightness in his scalp were gone, and he was a lot more relaxed than he’d been before. He was also a bit embarrassed to find his face basically smushed against her boobs. He pulled away, self-conscious, but she smiled kindly at him. 

“Feel better?”

He nodded and sniffled loudly. Tamika handed him a box of Kleenex then got him a cool cloth she draped on the back of his neck. 

“Thanks. I’ll bet you didn't expect to have to offer counseling services when you took this job.” He glanced at her face in the mirror and looked away, embarrassed, as he noisily blew his nose.

“I don’t mind. You just be well, and don’t let it all back up inside you again, you know?”

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly, sliding out of the chair. “I really can’t thank you enough, Tamika,” he said, leaning over to give her an awkward hug. “Do you do house calls?”

“You couldn’t afford me.”

He laughed, but he could tell she was serious.

\----

The wrap party for _Star Trek Beyond_ was held in a yacht club that had been closed down for the occasion. The place was huge, with gorgeous views of the city across the water, and Chris found himself actually having a good time for the first time in what felt like forever. The emotional release earlier in the day had left him feeling nearly drained but slightly giddy, and he took very real pleasure in the company of those around him. 

There was a large, flagstone terrace on the second floor overlooking the marina; Chris spent the evening seated there at a corner table with Idris, Zoë, and Simon. It was cool on the water, but pleasant, and most of their fellow cast passed by, hanging out, eating, and chatting about families, post-film projects, and just about anything but the movie they'd just shot. Bruce stopped by early on—he had a house up here—and it felt like old times. It had been great to catch up with him before he was dragged downstairs by Anton to belt out a blistering cover of _Sympathy for the Devil_ with the band that had been hired for the occasion. 

By 10:00, Chris was feeling good, sitting alone for the moment and watching the party with quiet approval, a glass of the 30-year old scotch that Justin had sprung for on the table in front of him. 

“There you are,” Zach said, suddenly standing there, a warm expression on his face. “I've been looking for you everywhere.”

“You mean you've been meaning to find me but kept getting distracted by literally everyone along the way,” Chris said, returning Zach's smile. 

“Busted,” he replied with a crooked smile. “Anyone sitting here?” he indicated the chair beside Chris. 

“You are.” 

Zach put his empty wine glass down and sat, making himself comfortable. “Well, that's one more in the can. Congratulations to us.” He held his hand up, arm wrestling style, with his elbow resting on the table. 

Chris clasped it firmly. “You know it, brother.”

“Here's to a dozen more.”

“Ha! We’ll be in our walkers by then!” Chris said. 

“What're we drinking?” Zach said, picking up Chris's glass and taking a swig. “Smooth,” he gasped after spluttering and coughing for a minute. 

“Justin sprang for the good stuff.” 

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Chris smirked; Zach's knowledge and appreciation for fine distilled beverages extended to cotton candy flavored vodka and stopped there. “I can't believe it's finally over.”

“You'll be happy to get back to LA.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. It was true of course—his stuff was already packed—but he was surprised to hear Zach make the statement. “I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to. You haven't really been yourself while we've been here; you’re always so antsy.”

Chris took a sip of his whiskey to avoid having to speak. 

“I wish you'd tell me what was wrong.”

“I can't, really.”

Zach sat forward in his chair, eyes suddenly so focused on Chris it was uncomfortable. “So there is something wrong?” 

“I wouldn't...”

“Oh god I knew it! You're sick aren't you?”

“What?”

“You've been so quiet and introverted, Chris, and _I told Zoë_ you were losing weight.”

“I mean, I have, but...”

“Oh no. No no no.” Zach reached out and took Chris's hands in his. “We'll get you the best doctors, the best possible care. I hear they're really good in Switzerland.” 

“Good at what in Switzerland? You don't even know what it is!”

Zach went pale behind the giant glasses he wore to hide his lack of eyebrows and he covered his mouth with both hands. 

_Oh Christ this was going so wrong!_ “I mean it’s nothing! I'm not sick Zach, I swear.”

“You swear to me!”

“Didn't I just—t?”

“Then what, Christopher? What? What is it? What?”

Chris closed his eyes and carefully considered what to do next. He should just tell him, completely brazen it out, and deal with the consequences. In a way that would be the easiest way out. And potentially the most painful if Zach rejected him. Or he could just keep denying there was anything wrong, as he had been doing, very likely ruining their friendship in the process anyway. “Well,” he took a huge lungful of air and slowly let it out, opening his eyes. “It’s you.” 

“Huh?”

“Zach.”

“Chris?” 

“Zach...” 

“Chris…” 

“ _Zach?_ ” 

They turned in their seats as a third person spoke. “Miles?” they both said in unison. 

“Oh, Zach!” Miles said, rushing over to their table to stand over them. He wore an expression on his face that was half hopeful, half scared shitless. “They told me I could find you here, I’m so glad you haven’t left yet.”

“What are you doing here?” Zach asked, standing and nearly knocking his chair over.

“I’ve been traveling all day.” Miles reached out a hand to Zach, who stepped away out of his reach. “I had to see you.” He pulled his hand back and shoved it into the pocket of the black skinny jeans he wore. He was dressed all in black, with a light silk sweater and boots, and looked as fresh as if he’d just walked off a runway. Chris barely suppressed a snort.

Zach crossed his arms. “See me for what? We have nothing left to say to each other, Miles.”

Miles’s eyes were mournful. “I miss you.”

“You miss me? That’s interesting. Isn’t your _affianced_ missing you right now?” 

“We’re over. As soon as I realized I wanted to be with you, I broke it off.”

Chris could see the muscles working in Zach’s temple and jaw as he clenched his teeth. “And how did you come to this wondrous realization?”

Chris noticed, even if Miles and Zach did not, that the small drama playing out at their table was drawing a crowd. 

“It was yesterday, actually. I was at Leffot, trying on a pair of Edward Green suede bucks for fall? They’re the ones with the calfskin upper, they were really soft and comfortable. They reminded me of you.”

Zach made a scoffing sound. “Why? Because they fit you so well?”

He stared blankly over Zach’s head. “No, but that would be a really good answer.” He blinked, back in the moment. “It was because the sales guy was wearing that cologne you used to wear? The one from Paris?”

“Lubin?”

“No, the other one.”

“I can’t remember.”

“Rouilly?”

“Roja?”

“Isn’t that a Spanish wine?”

“That’s Rioja.”

“Didn't you get it in London though? Not Spain?” 

"I think so? Maybe?" Zach scratched his head quizzically.

Chris couldn’t believe this was where he’d decided to lay his affections.

“Did you have a point, Miles?” Zach asked testily.

Miles paused, clearly considering what he would say. “My point is that I was suddenly, overwhelmingly, just _assaulted_ by a wave of missing you that was so strong I nearly cried. Zach, I _had. An. Emotion_.” He paused, not looking very happy about it. “I realized that giving you up was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

Miles eyes were bright as stars as he spoke, and when Chris glanced up at Zach, he was very clearly moved. His face had softened, and he was chewing at the inside of his lip thoughtfully. “Miles—“

“Look, I don’t expect you to forgive me right away, but the time we were together has got to count for something. We were pretty good together, weren’t we?”

Zach’s eyes shone with memory and his posture was now less stiff. It was clear Miles was beginning to get through to him, and he knew it too, as he took a step closer, close enough to touch. Miles raised a hand and rested it on Zach’s forearm. 

“Will you give me another chance?”

“No.”

Zach and Miles’s heads turned. Chris’s nearly did, too, until he realized he was the one who’d spoken.

“What?” Miles said.

Chris sat there staring at the two of them, his mouth hanging open, not sure what to do. But now that he had their attention, he had to say something. “Zach, don’t get back together with him.”

“Why not?” Miles replied, eyes now hard and cold and shooting daggers at Chris. “Last time I checked, this was _our_ lives here, Pine. Not yours.”

But Chris only had eyes for Zach. “Look at how far you’ve come in the last few months. Remember the way he made you feel? And all the reasons you guys broke up? Remember that, and tell me you’re seriously considering getting back together with him.”

Zach looked thoughtfully at Miles. 

Miles licked his lips. “Zach, don’t listen to him. He doesn’t understand what we had together. No one can. I still love you.”

“No,” Chris repeated insistently and stood up.

“No?” Miles said petulantly, visibly angry at the interruption.

“No. Because if you loved him as much as you say you do, you wouldn’t make him feel so bad about himself. You wouldn’t make him doubt his humanity, or over-analyze his every statement. If you loved him, you’d know how caught up in his own head he can get sometimes, and that the only way to get him out of it is to get him talking. If you loved him, you’d want to help him improve himself, and not look at him like he’s _some chore_ to be dealt with. If you loved him, you wouldn’t make him feel guilty for not paying enough attention to you when he’s working, when all he should be doing is focusing on his character and his performance. If you loved him… you’d have been there for him the last six months. You’d have... let him sleep in your bed because you know how much he hates to sleep alone. You’d… you’d… you’d love him... for _him_.” Chris’s voice trailed off as he realized what he’d done, what all he’d just said would mean.

“Chris?” Zach said, shock mixing with confusion on his face.

Chris met Zach’s eyes and they stared at each other for a moment. “Pick me,” he blurted.

“What?”

“I said, ‘pick me.’ To love. Instead of him.”

“What are you talking about? Are you…“ he laid a hand on his own chest, “…in love with me?” 

“I mean... yeah?”

“What the hell, Chris, this isn’t funny.”

“Do you see me laughing?”Around them, the entire crowd had hushed, and all eyes were on them. “That’s what I wanted to tell you, just now.” He laughed, a nervous tic he hated, and tears welled suddenly in his eyes. “I’m in love with you, Zach. That’s what’s been wrong with me. I love you.”

Zach’s face went blank and his body stiffened once more. “No.”

“No? You can’t say ‘no’.”

Zach’s lips parted, but he said nothing more. Before Chris could think of another thing to say, Zach turned on his heel and stalked out, alone.

“Shit, I guess I’m gonna need somewhere to stay now,” Miles said under his breath as the rest of the party erupted. 

Chris found himself sitting back down again, staring in shock at the last spot he saw Zach, before the door closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all on November 1 with some Halloween treats!


	12. November 1, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zach catches up to Chris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to semper-ama for the alpha read. You are so, so insightful, and I owe you big time.
> 
> You guys, look at the [fan art](http://36.media.tumblr.com/0afa2187f3433af90b513bce0afe050d/tumblr_nuu5loP3R21ru5t2mo1_1280.png) silent-bridge made for the last chapter!!

“Christopher, there you are! I've been trying to reach you for ages!”

Chris glanced at the clock on his kitchen wall. “I've been home literally all day.”

“I've been calling all day!” Katie said with exasperation.

“Then leave me a message.”

“I would, except your voice mail is full, numb-nuts!”

“Oh. Yeah, that's right, it kind of is.”

“You mean you know?”

Chris hesitated before answering. “Well, I mean...” He let his voice trail off as his sister went on a tirade about responsibility to family and some other bullshit; he wasn’t really listening.

The truth was he was avoiding his voice mail. It was filled with messages from Zach he couldn't bear to listen to. Or delete. The sight of them staring out at him accusingly ( _listen to us, Chris!_ ) had become too much lately. Zach had finally stopped calling about a week ago, and it was killing him.

“You called me for a reason? Sis?” Chris prompted at last, cutting her off mid-rant.

She huffed a little bit down the line before finally getting to the point. “You left your jacket here last night.”

“That was it?” They were literally going to be seeing each other again in less than three hours. “Bring it to Mom’s.”

“No, that was not it. Luca... also wanted to thank his uncle for taking him trick or treating last night.”

Chris brightened. “Really? Where is he? Put the little man on!”

“He was going to tell you when we called originally, this morning, but he's out now. With Michael, riding his bike.”

“Then why are you calling now? Just to yell at me?”

“Of course, Christopher, it's what I live for.” Chris thought she wasn't really kidding. “I was worried about you is all. Zach called last week, asked how you were doing.”

Chris thought if he could be X-rayed at that moment, they’d find that his stomach had dropped into his feet. “What… what did he have to say?” he asked, unable to control his voice from rising an octave.

“He just wanted to know if you were still in the country, or if you were shooting _Wonder Woman_. I said I didn't think so, but I was surprised he didn't know. Chrissy, why didn’t he know? I thought you guys were close?”

“We, um," Chris paused; should he admit they hadn't spoken in nearly two months? If he did, then he'd have to explain why, which would lead to the inevitable _deep conversation_. Katie was like a dog with a bone when it came to his emotions and relationships, and he just couldn't bear the scrutiny at the moment. “We are,” he defended lamely.

“Doesn't sound like it if he's calling me,” she said. “Which is what I told him, as a matter of fact.”

“You what?!”

“I told him if you weren’t speaking to him, there was probably a reason. You know how you’re like a wounded bear, just holing up in your cave licking your wounds? I told him that too.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He agreed with me.”

“Of course he did.” Chris covered his eyes with his hand—that explained the sudden stop to Zach’s calls.

“So, are you going to tell me what's really wrong, kiddo?”

Her voice was really gentle and kind and Chris nearly crumbled as the deep sadness and sense of failure he'd been living with these past weeks suddenly flared again. His chest felt tight. “It's... something I need to get through on my own if you don't mind? I'll tell you all about it later, Sis, I promise. It's just...” He let his voice trail off as the lump in his throat threatened to choke him.

“OK,” she said soothingly, “you do that. You sure you don't need anything? I can be over there with a perky six year old within the hour. He still hasn't taken off his Captain Kirk costume, you know.”

Chris huffed a half-hearted chuckle. In the past year, Luca finally realized that the captain on the DVD was really his favorite uncle. He was so proud, he'd insisted on dressing up as Kirk this year. Chris was beyond honored, and it was a lot of fun taking him out. “That makes me feel better. You should have seen folks reacting to the real Captain Kirk taking a tiny version around last night. It was all very meta.”

“Yeah, plus you could score all the kid's Mounds bars at the source.”

“I mean it's not like he was going to eat them. He hates coconut.”

“But I don’t.” She sighed. “All righty then, baby bro, I'll let you out of my evil clutches. Clear your voice mail out, will you?”

“Sure,” Chris lied and rang off.

He wandered into his living room and flopped down on the couch with a mighty sigh, wondering how he was going to pull it together enough to go to his parents’ for dinner that evening now. It was a family tradition—Sunday dinner no matter who was in town or busy or whatever—but this week was particularly hard. There’d been a photo spread of Zach online and he looked so good with his Spock hair and brows finally all the way grown out, it made Chris want to cry. He was not at all proud of himself for using it as jackoff material one particularly long and sleepless night.

He was not handling this very well.

In the weeks since shooting had wrapped, Chris had mostly gone through the motions of his life, taking meetings with his agents and a few producers who wanted to pitch him on some projects, dinner with Patrick and Troian a couple of times, working out now that he had all this time on his hands. For all intents and purposes, he was his usual self—he’d even regained some of the weight he’d stress-lost while pining over Zach in Canada. Except he felt like literally everything was meaningless.

If this was what heartbreak felt like, he’d clearly never really been through it before.

He picked up the TV remote and tried to watch a football game, but literally none of it interested him.

_BIG TIME_

Chris blinked at the sudden interruption of loud music blaring from somewhere outside the house. It was strange, because he lived in a private community, and there was a very thick, very heavily fortified security gate at the end of his driveway.

 _I'm on my way I'm making it!_  
_Big time!_  
_Big time!_  
_I've got to make it show yeah_

“The hell?” Chris rose from the couch and went to the front door. If this was one of his friends trying to make a joke, he was going to kill them. He threw the door open, annoyed as the music got even louder. Someone stood in front of a Toyota Prius, dressed in jeans, an old Ramones t-shirt, and a tan trench coat.

“Zach?”

He was bent over an old-fashioned boom box and fiddling with its buttons. When he realized Chris had opened the door, he spun around. Looking resigned, he hauled the boom box off the hood of the car and held it suspended over his head, staring at Chris with an inscrutable expression.

_Big time!_  
_Big time!_  
_So much larger than life_

“You know, if you’re going for the teen movie moment, that’s the wrong track?” Chris called from the doorway, raising his voice to be heard over the music.

Zach deflated. “I know, but it’s stuck and I can’t get the CD to back up to _In Your Eyes,_ ” he yelled back, lowering his arms and looking dejected. “I think it might be scratched.”

 _Big time!_  
_I'm going to watch it growing_  
_Big time!_

“Can you cut it off at least?”

“What?”

“I said, can you—“ Sighing with frustration, Chris walked out to the driveway and hit the power button on the thing.

He and Zach stared at each other in the bright sunshine. It was weird to see him in person again. He looked good: skin kind of ashen and his beard all patchy, hair looking the wrong side of oily. OK, he was a mess, but even then he was the best thing Chris had ever seen in his life.

“You want to come in? You must be stifling in that get-up, it’s like 80 degrees out here,” Chris turned his back on Zach before he had a chance to answer and went back into the house, trusting Zach would follow.

He wasn’t wrong, as he heard the front door close, followed by footsteps behind him. Chris walked to the kitchen, pulled a pitcher of water out of the fridge, and poured out two tall glasses. He slid one over to Zach as he took a seat at the kitchen island, and watched him drink half of it in one gulp.

“Was that your Halloween costume last night?”

“Yeah,” Zach said. “The theme was teen movies.”

“How apropos.” Zach shrugged. “How hungover are you anyway?”

“There were Jell-o shots,” Zach said, his regret as plain as the stubble on his face.

“Where are you staying?”

“At Joe’s. Are you gonna keep giving me the third degree?”

“Dammit, Zach, what are you even doing here? With a boom box, playing Peter Gabriel—who does that?”

“You weren’t answering my calls, I got desperate!” Zach said forcefully. “Anyway, it seemed like a good idea last night, or that’s what Molly Ringwald said.”

“You’re taking advice from people dressed in Molly Ringwald drag now?”

“No, I think she was the real Molly Ringwald. Anyway, I wanted to make a big gesture, to get you to talk to me again. I haven’t seen you in weeks, I needed to see you.”

Chris noticed he couldn’t meet his eyes. Typical. He crossed his arms and fixed Zach with an impatient glare. “Well, here I am, have you gotten enough of an eyeful yet?”

Still Zach wouldn’t look at him.

“No, of course you haven’t, you haven’t looked me in the eye since you came in here.”

Zach looked up at that, wounded. Or maybe it was the hangover. “You said you loved me.”

“Yeah. And you walked out on me.”

“It was kind of a lot to take in.”

“So you ran?”

“Of course I ran! You know better than anyone—it’s what I do, Chris!” Chris just glared at him. “Anyway, you ran first,” he added sullenly.

“What?” Chris scoffed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t stand there and pretend you don’t know what I mean. You were pulling away from me, avoiding me since the movie started filming. Did you think I never noticed? Who ran first, Christopher?”

Chris narrowed his eyes. “You want to compare scars, Zachary? OK, fine. Do you remember what happened before we started filming?”

“When we… when we made love that night I found out about Miles getting engaged?” He looked genuinely confused. “We agreed that was a mistake. It was the holiday!”

“Yeah, the holiday,” Chris said wearily, shaking his head. He was suddenly very much over Zach’s excuses. “But meanwhile, it was that night I realized I was in love with you, you asshole.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

They stared at each other for a long minute. “So you lied to me?” Zach asked, pissed off.

Chris’s eyes boggled. “What?”

“You were lying to me the whole time? You’re telling me you’ve been in love with me since… when? May? That’s not exactly fair, Chris.”

“Fair? _Fair?_ ”

“You know my track record with relationships!” Zach said, getting off the stool and pacing the kitchen floor in a small, tight formation.

“So?”

“ _So?!_ So don’t you think I’d like a say in this before you change the parameters of the most significant relationship in my life? You tell me you’re in love with me and just leave it out there!” He waved his arms extravagantly for emphasis; Chris was reminded of Kermit the frog. “Just leave it hanging and expect me to pick it up and be OK with it, with exactly no time to process or to come to grips with how I might feel about it? Or about you?”

It was Chris’s turn to be confused. “I mean—I wouldn’t have said anything if it weren’t for Miles showing up. I was content to suffer in peace, if it makes you feel any better. But I couldn’t sit back and watch you ruin your life with _that_ guy.“

“Wow, say what you really mean, Pine.”

“All right then. I think he’s a vapid, insensitive asshole, and I don’t know if I like the person you are with him.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

Chris stared at him, surprised.

Zach stopped pacing and scratched at his jaw. “Yeah, I mean we fed off the worst parts of each other. And when you said what you said, I just couldn’t… I dunno, parse it, really. At that moment, all I was was unhappy, with Miles, with myself. So I had to get out of there. But after I left that party, it took me all of twenty minutes to realize I had feelings for you too.”

“You… what?” Chris asked breathlessly.

“Yeah, and I called you the next morning, but you never picked up. And I’ve been leaving you messages and you never called me. I even called you sister, and you know how much she scares me, man.”

Chris blinked at him, unable to speak.

Zach stepped around the island and rested his hands on Chris’s shoulders tentatively, like he didn’t think he had the right to touch him. “I love you, Chris. Somewhere deep in my Grinchy heart, I think I always have. And it frankly scares the hell… wait a minute, are you crying?”

Chris looked away. “No!” But once the tears began to flow, there was nothing he could do to make them stop. “God damn it!” he complained.

“Chris?”

“I am going to need a minute!” he said before fleeing the room.

\----

“Chris?”

“No.”

“What?” Zach replied, a laugh in his voice.

Chris sighed. He’d been sitting on his bed, staring out the window, for the last ten minutes trying to compose himself, unsuccessfully. He hated being him sometimes—he cried at the drop of a freaking hat. Anything could set him off, a kitten video, pictures of cute elderly couples, a sentimental song. He hadn’t listened to Coldplay in years. “I mean, come in,” he said as he turned around to face the door.

“I already am in.” Zach was standing beside the bed, a tentative smile on his face.

“Oh. What are you smiling about?”

“We’re in love with each other, don’t you think that’s a reason to be happy?”

Chris grabbed a decorative pillow Katie made him buy—at least it was suede—and hugged it to his stomach. “It will take some getting used to. Loving you has hurt for a long time.” The smile left Zach’s face so fast, Chris regretted his words. “I’m sorry if that sounds harsh.”

“I think I deserved it,” Zach said, sitting down on the edge of the bed with one leg tucked under him. He’d taken off the trench coat and looked less like a perv now.

They stared at each other awkwardly for several minutes. “I wish I could replay that scene back there,” Zach said at last. “It went a lot differently in my head.”

“How did it go?”

“Well, the CD worked, for one thing, and when the song was over you said something funny and cutting about my total lack of originality, and then I said it would have worked on every girl in my high school who dreamed of fucking John Cusack, and then you said it was a good thing I’m not him, because he’s straight. And then there was a lot of you falling into my arms and me kissing you.”

“Sorry I ruined it. Sounds nice.”

“I’m not sorry. I mean, I’m actually very sorry, but not because the scene didn’t work out, I just want to make that clear,” Zach babbled. “I never set out to hurt you, it’s the complete opposite of what I would ever want to do. I’d sooner cut off my own arm. You’re family to me, Chris, I hope you know that.” He paused, thinking. “You said before you thought I didn’t care about what happened that night, but… I did. I cared a lot more then I’d even admit to myself. But I thought you were too weirded out by the sex, and you wanted some space or whatever, so I kept my distance.

“And it sucked, Chris, and it made the movie not fun. Because I missed you, I missed _us,_ and all the good things we are together—I could feel it slipping away and I knew it was all my fault.”

Zach took a large breath and let it out slowly, to calm himself, but his voice was shaking. “But I didn’t…” Another sigh, and he had tears in his eyes now, too. “I didn’t think it was because you had feelings for me, because if I did, there’s no way I’d have let you suffer. I mean, you know me better than anyone, I couldn’t just let something like that lie.”

“I know,” Chris admitted.

“But in a way, I’m glad it happened like that, because if I’d been half as insightful as you seem to think I am, I’m not so sure we’d be sitting here right now. I’m 100% sure I’d have freaked out, and that wouldn’t have been good, for either of us. Instead, you froze me out and it forced me to do a little soul-searching. A lot of soul searching.”

Zach looked around the bedroom. “I love this place, your house. You know why?”

“No.”

“Because I feel safe here. Last Thanksgiving, when Miles had dumped me and I came here, it was because I needed that. And you took my weak ass in without even batting an eye, and you spent the last year trying to help me, to make me get my head out of my ass, and you know what? I liked it. I needed it. I need you.”

Chris could feel the water works powering up again, but this time he didn’t mind. “Really?”

Zach nodded. “I always have, only now I know exactly how much.” He looked down, began to play with the fraying hem of his t-shirt. “The last few weeks without you... have been hell. And it’s not because I’ve been sick in love with you and you’ve been ignoring me. Well, not only that. It’s been because for the first time ever, I didn’t have you to fall back on when I fuck up. There was this enormous, you-shaped hole and I couldn’t fill it, no matter what I did.” Zach blinked, and the tears in his eyes fell down his face. “Please say we can get past all of this, because I am dying here.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Chris surged forward, taking Zach’s face between his hands and kissing him. It wasn’t the most perfect kiss—there was a moment of nose-crushing miscalculation that made Zach sneeze—but when they found their groove, it was perfect in its own way.

Like their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you at Thanksgiving for the last chapter!


	13. November 26, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes from a Thanksgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously this story plays fast and loose with timelines; I don’t really care enough to correct it (or to add Dubai), but I do acknowledge it.

“I—“

“Mmm—“

“Ble—“

“Uh-huhhhnnnnggggaaaahhhhh.”

As it turned out, getting eaten out made Chris nearly non-verbal. 

This fact made Zach unreasonably smug, but it was about the only drawback, and one Chris could live with.

Chris lay with his face in the sheets, legs spread wide with a pillow jammed under his hips, and Zach’s face buried between his ass cheeks. He could come right now, he was so fucking turned-on, but he was determined to last this time. So he decided to do a mental rundown of key ingredients in his grandmother’s famous Thanksgiving stuffing recipe. 

“Oh my God, look at you, all open and ready for me now,” Zach said several minutes later.

“Water chestnuts,” Chris whimpered.

“What?”

“What?” Chris looked back over his shoulder at Zach, who laughed as he stretched himself out beside Chris. 

“What goes through your mind, Pine? I would really like to know sometimes.”

Chris could feel his face flush. “I am large, I contain multitudes.”

“That’s why I love you,” Zach said, reaching for his face and kissing him soundly. 

Chris didn’t know if he should be grossed out or not, but given the thorough rim job Zach had just gifted him with, he didn’t think he could be too choosy. Besides, he kept a clean playing field.

“I love you too,” he said when he could catch his breath. Zach began to suck on his neck in appreciation. 

Their last few weeks together had been nearly perfect, the only drawback being a four-day stretch when Zach had to return to New York for work. He’d booked a play he’d have to start working on in the New Year, and Chris would have to leave soon to shoot _Wonder Woman_ , but all in all, Chris had never spent three happier weeks in his life. They’d spent most of the time in bed, happily learning each other’s bodies, what each man liked and didn’t like, pushing each other, teasing each other. In between times, they’d lie with limbs entangled, talking about everything from politics to industry gossip. It felt like always, and it felt like new: it was their new normal, and Chris was loving getting used to it.

He rolled them over so Zach was lying on his back, then reached for the condom and lube he’d thought to stash under one of the pillows. 

“Ooo, exciting,” Zach said as Chris dropped the rubber onto his chest, then straddled his thighs.

Chris grinned. “Wouldn’t want all your hard work to go to waste.” He squirted lube on his right hand and reached behind to work himself further open. Zach’s efforts had not been wasted, but Chris was nowhere near ready to take him. Zach raised his knees and Chris used one as leverage as he prepped himself. 

“God, you’re so beautiful right now,” Zach said, reaching out to stroke Chris’s thighs. 

Zach was looking at him with hooded eyes, his hair a mess and lips stubble-burned, but it was the most wonderful thing Chris could ever remember seeing. He smiled and leaned forward for a kiss. “You’re not so bad yourself.” 

Chris positioned himself over Zach, reaching behind to guide the head of his dick to his asshole. He held his breath as he felt the initial burn, easing himself down as gently as he could. 

He took his time and at last bottomed out, taking a moment to breathe, to allow his body to adjust. “Look at you,” Zach said. “I am the luckiest man.”

Chris shook his head. “I am,” he insisted with a blissed-out smile as he began to move, undulating his hips and gasping at the pain-pleasure of it. 

They moved together, bodies joined, Zach thrusting up into Chris to meet him as he slid down. It didn't take long for Chris to feel the familiar tightening in his balls. He threw his head back and groaned, “Oh God, I’m so close.” He dropped his hand to Zach’s chest, leaning forward as he took his own dick in his other hand and began pumping.

“Wait, wait,” Zach gasped, his strokes lengthening. “Kiss me!”

Chris obliged, leaning forward to cover Zach’s mouth with his. A moment later, Zach came, his cries muffled by Chris’s mouth. Chris straightened, riding the last of his lover’s climax out, feeling his dick pulse and shudder inside him. He moaned Zach’s name.

“Say it again,” Zach panted, smiling encouragingly.

“Zach,” Chris moaned again as he pressed his thumb into the head of his dick, hard, and spilled over his chest. “Zach.”

\----

There was something to be said for waking up in bed with someone you were in love with. There were a whole lot of somethings, as a matter of fact, but Chris was at a loss to expound upon any of them. This morning, he was far too fascinated by watching Zach sleep.

Zach slept like he did a lot of things—with a kind of abandon that Chris found wholly endearing. At the moment, he lay on his back, arms flung above his head and t-shirt rucked up over his belly, the pillow squashed up against the headboard above his head, and the covers strewn across his long legs. It reminded Chris of how Luca used to sleep when he was a baby, face all flushed and warm with sleep, unlined and unconcerned. It was frankly beautiful.

He stirred, flinching almost, as some dream or other thought roused him and he finally woke. Chris turned his body against him before he could fully wake, stretching his arms around Zach and resting his head on his chest, taking advantage of Zach’s momentary openness to get in an early morning snuggle. Zach accepted it sleepily, his arms coming down to rest around Chris’s shoulders as he pulled him closer. “Good morning,” he said before his eyes opened, his voice pleasingly scratchy.

Chris kissed his chest through his t-shirt. “Morning.”

“Sleep well?”

Chris always slept well with Zach in his bed. “After last night? I slept like a brick.”

“After last night,” Zach said, taking a deep breath and pulling Chris in tighter, “I should sleep more.”

Chris closed his eyes contentedly. “Me too,” he lied. He really didn’t want to, he knew he had lots to do today, but it was still early and the opportunity to watch Zach sleep more was too tempting to pass up.

\----

The sound of birdsong woke him later. Chris was surprised to find he’d fallen back to sleep—it wasn’t like he hadn't gotten his full eight hours. But here he lay, small spoon to Zach’s big one, Skunk lying across his feet like a warm blanket. “I like the new normal,” he whispered, settling back into the warmth of Zach’s arms.

“What was that?” Zach asked; Chris felt his chest rumble as he spoke.

“Nothing. Good morning. Again.”

“Morning,” Zach said. He tightened his arm around Chris’s waist and kissed him on the back of the neck. “Hungry? I’ll make breakfast.”

Chris smiled. Zach’s idea of making breakfast was microwaving a sausage and egg biscuit; at least Chris could make pancakes. “I’ll do it. We need to get up anyway. Mom says I have to get the turkey into the oven early.”

“How early?”

“10:00. What time is it?” He squinted at the alarm clock on his nightstand, but he was too nearsighted to see it. He needed to get something with giant numbers.

“11:00, you’ve got a whole ‘nother hour.” Zach backed up and pulled Chris so he was lying on his back, and they kissed.

A moment later, Chris’s eyes flew open. “Wait a minute, did you say it was _11:00_?!”

“Yeah?”

“What?!” Chris sat bolt upright in the bed and grabbed for the alarm clock; sure enough, it was currently 10:59. “You were supposed to wake me up—I’m behind already!”

“I haven’t had my coffee.”

Zach pushed himself up in the bed so he was sitting against the headboard, his hair flopping very attractively over his forehead as he pushed it back. “I didn't realize there was a _schedule_ or whatever.” 

“Of course there's a schedule. Remember that piece of paper I handed you yesterday? It had the words 'Zach's Thanksgiving Schedule' printed in very large letters across the top.”

“Oh, is that what that was?”

Chris wanted to tear his hair out. “Yes! And the first thing at the top of the list? ‘Make sure Chris gets up!’” The clock in his hand suddenly began vibrating and ringing shrilly. Chris fumbled it between his hands before finally finding the off switch. “Dammit!”

“See, I set the alarm,” Zach said proudly.

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Who taught you to tell time? No wonder you’re always late.”

Zach began snapping his fingers. “In time we could have been so much more,” he sang, “but time is precious I know…”

“Culture Club? Really?”

Zach was all wide-eyed innocence. “But it’s a classic.”

Chris made pterodactyl noises before running to the bathroom. He jumped into the shower before it had time to get up to temperature. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed for the first shampoo bottle he could reach. 

“Hey, that one's mine,” Zach said, stepping into the stall and dipping his head under the spray.

Chris held the bottle close to his face and squinted; he was blind as a bat without his contacts. He handed the bottle to Zach and fumbled to pick his own up. “What're you doing in here anyway?” 

“I figured it's more efficient if we do this together.”

Chris gave him the stinkeye. “No, it's not. You know it gets all sexy and one of us will wind up on his knees eventually.” 

Zach's look of utter innocence morphed into a wolfish grin as he reached for Chris. 

“No, stop it, we’re late as it is,” Chris scolded, flicking open the cap on his shampoo. Zach pouted—and it was about the most appealing thing Chris had seen all day, but he was going to stay strong and allow nothing to distract them. It was a big day—their first holiday as a couple—and he was determined to make it special. 

\----

“What is this vision I see before me?” Zach said, setting the case of beer he was carrying onto the kitchen table. 

Chris turned around, puzzled. He glanced around at the farmer's market worth of produce that surrounded him: onions, yams, cauliflower, green beans, herbs, and more, then down at his _Kiss the Cook_ apron. “Come on, shut up, I'm way behind. Can you snap those beans over there?”

Zach sidled up to him, his eyelashes lowered demurely, but Chris could tell what he was staring at. “I know what bean I'd like to snap,” Zach purred, his lips suddenly at Chris's throat and his hands wandering south to untie the apron.

Chris batted ineffectually at Zach's hands. “We don't have time for that. Our families and friends will be here in, like, three hours. And I’ve got stuffing to make.” A slightly panicked expression passed over Zach’s face. “What? What is it?”

Zach couldn’t meet Chris’s eyes. “Nothing.” He walked back across the kitchen. “I’ve got to set up the bar and get these beers on ice, right?”

Chris watched him go into the next room with a sense of unease that had nothing to do with whether or not he’d bought the right kind of potatoes. “Stop seeing things that aren’t there, Pine,” he admonished himself, but the feeling would not die.

\----

“Mom, what is ‘sought’?”

“Darling, what?” Gwynne Pine asked over the speaker of Chris’s mobile phone.

“The recipe for Grandma’s stuffing, it says I have to sought the onions and celery in butter until soft. I’m not sure what that means exactly.”

“Sauté, Christopher. The word is pronounced _sauté_.”

Chris squinted at the recipe he’d printed out on a piece of paper; maybe it was time for a new glasses prescription. “Oh. OK…”

“It means to cook quickly over high heat in a skillet, stirring or tossing often, dear. Are you sure you don’t want me to come over to help?”

“I, um, well… no?”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

\----

“Mrs. Pine, what a surprise!” 

Chris could see Zach answer the door when his parents arrived. He had to position himself at the farthest end of the kitchen island from where he was working and also bend over sideways in order to do it, but he could see them pretty plainly. Mostly. 

Gwynne bent forward to hug Zach, her butt and pelvis at a near-right angle. “Zachary, darling, I’ve told you, it’s ‘Gwynne.’ Or ‘Mom,’ if you like. But Mrs. Pine was my mother-in-law, and believe you me, I’d rather not be associated with that.”

Though his back was to him, Chris could just imagine the smile frozen on Zach’s face as he said, “OK then, _Gwynne_ , can I take your jacket?”

“Of course, aren’t you sweet?” she said sincerely. “Now where’s my son, he sounded positively desperate when he called.”

“I think there’s a mushroom emergency brewing,” Zach said.

“Rat fink!” Chris muttered under his breath; the mushroom sauce for the green beans had gone all clumpy and Chris was having a minor freak-out, but he didn’t want his mother to know. He returned to the cooktop to stir it some more.

“Hello, my baby boy!” Gwynne said, sweeping into the room. She rested a fond hand on his back and peeked into the pot. “Oh dear, what have we here?”

“The sauce for the green beans,” Chris said resignedly.

“It just needs to be thinned out—will you hand me the broth?” Chris retrieved a box of vegetable broth from the counter and handed it to her. Soon, the sauce was a smooth consistency, the only lumps the mushrooms that were supposed to be there. 

“Thanks, Mom,” Chris said gratefully as she added the beans, then turned it all out into a baking dish. “Where’d Zach go?”

Gwynne glanced back the way she’d come. “Oh, I don’t know, dear, I think he’s talking to your father about the football.”

“I wish I could be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” Chris said; Zach tended to root for the team with the most colorful uniforms. Bob Pine, on the other hand, ran upwards of three fantasy football tournaments in his spare time. 

“Tell me about your yam situation,” Gwynne said, 

“Yam situation? I wasn’t aware—“

“Oh, you must be aware. Never turn your back on a yam, Christopher, whatever you do.”

“What, will it pull a knife, or—“ 

Chris was soon dispatched to the pantry to find marshmallows.

\----

With everything under control in the kitchen at last thanks to his mother, Chris retreated to his bedroom to change before the rest of their guests arrived. He was trying to do something about his hair when he was joined by Zach, who sat on the bed watching him get ready. 

“People start arriving yet?” Chris asked.

“Your sister is here, and Joe texted—Ma’s plane landed and they’ll be here within the hour. It’s going to be a full house.”

“I know,” Chris said. He loved Thanksgiving, and he wanted this one in particular to go perfectly. “You don’t mind though, do you?”

“Mind, why would I mind? It’s your house, your holiday.”

Chris looked at Zach’s reflection in the mirror; he was inspecting his cuticles. “Is something wrong?”

Zach raised his head, at last looking Chris in the eyes. “Why would anything be wrong?”

Chris held his gaze just a beat too long and was forced to look away. _What could be wrong?_ How about the fact Zach thought holidays were a curse? Chris felt like there was some shoe waiting to drop from somewhere, and it was going to fall on his head.

“Sometimes I think women have it so easy,” Chris sighed, changing the subject and going back to fixing his hair—or trying to. 

“How so?” Zach asked, cocking his head to the side.

“I mean, if it doesn't look good, they can use a headband or those clippy things,” he gestured vaguely behind his head, “or a bun.” He sighed as his hair flopped in the opposite direction from where he wanted it. “I wish I could do that.” 

“I will pay you $10,000, cash money, if you grow your hair long enough to put into a bun.” 

Chris laughed and tugged at his errant forelock. “I might take you up on that.” 

\----

As usual, no matter how much planning went into it, getting Thanksgiving dinner out turned into a giant logistical mess. Luckily, Zach’s mother Margo lent a very capable hand, and she and Gwynne did most of the heavy lifting. Chris was beyond grateful—he wasn’t sure how he thought he could do it all himself.

The call went out to the guests that dinner was ready. They’d set up a buffet in the kitchen, with seating in the dining room. Chris hung behind to supervise, wanting to ensure everyone had plenty of everything. But once most folks had served themselves, there was one person who was notably absent.

“Where’s Zach, have you seen him?” he asked Joe over the turkey platter.

“I think he said he was going out for a smoke?”

Chris was confused—Zach hadn't smoked in over a year, not since Leonard had gotten so sick at the end. “How long ago?”

Joe shrugged. “Half hour?”

The niggling flame of doubt that Chris had felt gnawing at his guts all day suddenly flared up into a full-on conflagration. “I’m gonna go find him—tell everyone to go ahead and eat without us, OK?”

Chris did a quick circuit of the yard, his anxiety ratcheting up the longer it took him to find Zach. He finally located him in the small citrus orchard planted at the bottom of the back yard. He wasn’t smoking, but he was pacing broodingly among the trees. 

“There you are,” Chris said, hoping it came out calm and not at all panicked. “Dinner’s ready.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Is something wrong? You’ve been acting strangely all day.”

“You noticed, huh?”

“Well, I mean…”

“You really want to know what’s wrong? Are you 100% sure of that?”

Chris wasn’t so sure any longer, but he was the one who’d started this conversation. He physically braced himself as if preparing to take a hard blow. “Yes?” 

“Fine. It’s our families, if you must know.”

“What?” Not the answer he was expecting. “What about them? They get along great.”

“Too great if you ask me. I was playing bartender before, just making martinis and pouring wine, when your dad made a little joke, asked me what my intentions were toward his son, ha-ha.”

“What? I can’t believe that!” Chris could feel his face heating with annoyance. “I’ll talk to him.”

“You don’t have to—it was obvious he was joking, but then your sister piped in, saying things about cows and free milk or whatever.” 

Chris covered his eyes with a hand and sighed.

“Which would have been bad enough, but then my brother jumps in with both feet, saying I need to make a respectable man out of you, and wanting to know if we’d discussed marriage or children.”

“No. Tell me this is not a thing that happened.”

“It gets better, because that’s the moment my mother comes in the room and hears all this. She doesn’t realize they’re all just razzing me, and I spend the next ten minutes convincing her that no, we’re not planning a wedding, and yes, she’d be the first one to know if anything like that ever happened”

Chris looked up at Zach, at the crazed and harried look in his eyes, and swallowed hard. “So then what?” he asked in a small voice.

“I am freaking the fuck out, what do you think?”

Chris’s heart sank. He sat down, hard, on a nearby retaining wall. “I knew it! I knew we should have gone away to Hawaii or the mountains or something.”

“What—why?”

“Because of your stupid holiday curse! I know how you are, Zach. You always break up with boyfriends on holidays. Oh god, it’s happening today, isn’t it? I knew this was too good to be true, I just knew it.” He turned away from Zach, not wanting to look at him; if he did, he knew he’d cry, and he was not about to lose his dignity over this, not today.

“Chris, no, that’s not it,” Zach said, his voice calmer, gentler. He got to his knees and took Chris’s wrists in his hands. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it, Zach?”

“I was freaking out because I agreed with everything they were saying! I realized I actually wanted it.”

“Wanted what?”

“The cow, the milk, the kids, everything!”

“Am I a cow in this scenario?”

“No, I think you’re the milk, maybe.”

“You hate milk.”

“But I love you, and that’s my whole point! As I was standing there laughing off their jokes, I realized I did want to make an honest man out of you—out of both of us. But I couldn’t say anything, not to you or anybody. Especially you.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’ve been together all of what—three weeks? I can’t just ask you to marry me when we’ve only been dating three weeks, that’s crazy even for me.”

Chris felt a surge of something—excitement, fear, certainty—and he grabbed onto Zach’s forearms. “But is it really? Think about it, we’ve been friends for years, we’ve loved each other for a long time, even if it did take us so long to figure it out. Do we really need to follow some pre-determined set of criteria? If it feels right, we should do it.”

Zach’s eyes were warm, but there was a touch of doubt in them. “Does it feel right?”

“Remember when I said that the next person I sleep with would be the one I’d hope to spend the rest of my life with?”

“Yeah?”

“I wasn’t lying.”

Zach smiled. “You would never lie about something like that.”

“So is this it? Is this you asking me to marry you?”

Zach nodded, then affected a British accent as he said, “If you will do me the honor, Mr. Pine.”

“I believe I shall, Mr. Quinto,” Chris replied, using the same accent.

“Hey, let’s stop it with the accent, it makes us sound like douchebags.”

“Oh yeah, because that _never_ happens!” Chris laughed before Zach took him into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me and this story for an entire year! I hope you found it worthy of your time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your time


End file.
